


Community Service

by jscoutfinch



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Captain Swan - Freeform, F/M, Priest Kink
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-07-07
Updated: 2016-03-03
Packaged: 2018-04-08 05:53:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 17
Words: 49,916
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4293231
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jscoutfinch/pseuds/jscoutfinch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU where Emma is the Sheriff’s daughter who likes to get into trouble, Killian is the new priest whose faith was shaky to begin with - and then he met her.</p><p>Rated E for future chapters and some salty language.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

His father had told him once “You’re Irish. That means you’re Catholic.”

It wasn’t a decision anymore than his dark hair and impossibly blue eyes. It was simply a fact. 

Over the years there were many times he wanted to call out his family’s hypocrisy - the way they held grudges, the way his father drank, the way his mother cursed - but he never could see the good in it. 

There was one particularly rough night when he was 17 when his father had gone through an entire bottle of whiskey and gotten a little rough with his mum. He threw himself between them - she was hurling threats and verbal filth, he was hurling dishes. It was the shattering of a plate that left him with a broken family and a deep gash on his cheek. 

They never really recovered after that. Being Catholic, a divorce was out of the question - but they basically just existed around each other from that point forward. He moved out, unable to understand how the life they were living was any better than just moving on. 

He spent a few difficult years piecing together what could charitably be called a living - being on the receiving end of a lot of help from the Catholic church his father talked so much about. For a while something about that really bothered him -- but sometimes things were so tough he didn’t much care where the help came from. 

With time he began to like the church, even love it - really. It was a kind of sanctuary. He always knew he could seek refuge there.

After one of the parishioners helped him get a job at the docks and his life became more stable he thought church would take a backseat. But just the same he found himself there every Sunday for mass.

Then it was Sundays and Wednesdays. Before he knew it, he was there every morning before work - and the priest knew him well. 

It was over coffee one Tuesday morning that Father Brannan encouraged him to consider the priesthood, but with his job at the docks - he couldn’t bring himself to rock the boat. 

But the stability he’d found was short lived. A few months later there was an accident on the job that claimed Killian’s hand - and after falling headlong into a depression fueled by anger and rum, he turned up at the church.   
He was surprised to find seminary very much like any other school - people playing pranks, going out drinking, laughing. For some reason he imagined it would be a somber affair filled with boring people, but he was encouraged to see that you could still be “normal” and be a man of the cloth. 

As his education came to a close he found himself growing increasingly nervous about the future. He still didn’t feel like he had any immense wisdom to share with the world, and while he did believe the Bible and he desperately wanted the kind of blind faith he saw in some of his classmates - it just wasn’t in him. 

Nonetheless, he was assigned to a small town in Maine - and he was set to give his first sermon next Sunday.

He packed his few belongings (the only thing of importance was a small cigar box that smelled of tobacco and spices) and tried - and failed to come up with a topic for the sermon. In the end, he rolled across the town line singing Pearl Jam and thinking of nothing but the open road. 

______________________________________________________________________________

Her father had been the sheriff for her entire life - which mostly meant that everyone knew who she was and treated her well. It seems like a silly thing to be bothered by, but it had always annoyed her.

Everyone around her seemed fake. They were nice because they wanted something - not because they knew anything about her. This town was infuriatingly small. Everyone knew everything about everyone. It was stifling. 

She was 14 when she started to rebel by coming up with outlandish stories about her home life just to see what people would do. It started relatively small - but eventually her father stepped in when she was telling the town that he was a mean drunk and her mother was a dazed pill-popper.

“I just don’t understand why do you this kind of stuff,” he said exasperatedly after picking her up for shoplifting. “I mean, we love you so much, and we just try to make you comfortable and happy - and this is how you act? Have we upset you somehow?” 

His sincere words curl into her stomach and tie themselves into fitful knots - she just can’t stand how fucking … nice they are all the time. It’s like they’re not real. Nobody is that happy and peppy. Nobody is that genuine. 

She finds herself staring at the dash in silence - struggling to see how she can possibly be related to these people. They seem so shallow - their entire life a thin veneer of suburban perfection designed to make everyone look on in jealousy. 

In her heart, when the raging storm of emotions passes a little and she’s alone with her headphones on in her room, she can see that her parents really are just very kind people - but she’s got a rebellious streak a mile wide, and always liked the brooding and melancholy much more than the bright and sunny. That’s why she feels so alone in a house filled with love. 

Her parents, David and Mary Margaret console each other with assurances that it’s just a phase. 

“All teenagers rebel, sweetheart. It’s just… It’ll pass,” Mary Margaret tenderly rubs her husband’s shoulders as he sits with his head in his hands at the kitchen table. 

As the years went by, Emma became a little less angsty - but she retained a little of her inner rebel. She still preferred Chuck Taylors to heels, black leather to pink satin, and The Killers to the Beatles. 

She graduated high school with absolutely no idea what she wanted to do. She want to a local community college for some direction, and ended up with a boyfriend - Neal. 

They were together about a year, and Emma fell for him hard - his disheveled look and Devil May Care attitude was everything she thought she wanted in a man. What she learned the hard way was that the “bad boys” are called that for a reason. 

She was left holding after a “quick job” went wrong, and she got 14 months - while Neal got away clean. For a while she thought about looking him up when she got out. She wasn’t sure if she wanted to punch him or if she thought maybe there was an explanation for the way he used her. 

In the end, she decided not to find out. She served her time, and was even released a little early on probation. That’s when she discovered what had to be her calling - bail bonds. She knew all the dirty little tricks that people liked to use - and she knew exactly how to use it to track them down. 

Part of her early release was community service, and she had to squeeze it in along with her irregular hours at work - which was proving to be complicated. 

As it turns out - the easiest option was to partner with the local church. They had all kinds of programs and classes she could volunteer at - and they best part was that they spanned all days of the week, and all hours of the day. 

She trailed the contact list with her finger and gave the church a call. The receptionist let her know that there was a new priest coming in tomorrow, and she could stop by around 4 p.m. to meet him and set up her community service. 

With her head tilted to the side, Sharpie cap between her teeth, she scrawled “Father Jones 4 p.m.” on the back of her hand. She hung up the phone and tossed the pen to her desk before flopping back onto her bed. As boring as Father Jones may be, it’s better than doing time.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The first time they meet :)

He’d unpacked his few belongings at the modest apartment provided by the diocese for the parish priest that morning. It was sparingly furnished - but he couldn’t help but smile at it’s simplicity. It wasn’t so long ago that even this would have seemed impossibly out of his reach, and he was grateful for a place to call his own - no matter the size. It was just him, after all.

The nearby church was pretty - a little old, and therefore a little rough around the edges (the roof needed replaced), but it looked quite at home in the sleepy little town, and nothing was in too bad of shape really. 

Lucy, the church administrator was a kindly woman - a little tense, but friendly enough - and she showed him to his office with some small talk about where he’s from and whatnot. To be honest, he wasn’t really listening. There was just so much to take in, and his mind was otherwise occupied - especially since he still hadn’t sorted out his sermon. 

He’d only brought his bible, a notebook and pen, unsure what the state of the office would be. Well, really, he didn’t have much more than that anyway. The office was perfect. Others might consider it a tad… cramped (the furniture all seemed oversized), but something about the close quarters was comforting to him. 

On the left side of the room was a solid oak desk with intricate floral designs carved into the soft wood. It wasn’t exactly his style (he leaned toward the mid-century modern school personally), but it seemed fitting nonetheless, and even he could appreciate it’s beauty. 

In front of the desk was a pair of thoroughly used chairs - the pads worn down to a half-inch - the faded green upholstery hanging loose with the extra room. 

To the right was an equally intricate armoire - with a few shelves for extra slacks, collars, shirts and robes for mass. It was much roomier than he could possibly find use for, but again - it seemed at home in the old church.

Straight ahead of the door there was a single window, and since the room was on the second floor, it provided a lovely overview of the church yard. It was all so - serene. Something he long ago assumed he’d never have. 

He sat himself down at the desk and finally admitted that there was nothing left to do but get to writing his sermon. That first sermon was always so difficult. He’d seen many other church leaders essentially get up to the pulpit and pitch their resume (their holiness) to the church - and it turned his stomach. 

Determined to find something more - humble - he reached for his leather-bound bible (one of his most cherished possessions) and started absentmindedly flipping through the pages. 

When he came to John 10:7, he stopped and read:

“Then said Jesus unto them again, Verily, verily, I say unto you, I am the door of the sheep. All that ever came before me are thieves and robbers: but the sheep did not hear them. I am the door: by me if any man enter in, he shall be saved, and shall go in and out, and find pasture. The thief cometh not, but for to steal, and to kill, and to destroy: I am come that they might have life, and that they might have it more abundantly.”

There it is. That’s going to be the sermon - about how God alone is the good shepherd. Priests and leaders come and go, but those who know God’s voice will find eternal life. 

He smiled softly at the words and pulled his notebook over to scrawl some notes. 

__________________________________________________________________________

She’d passed the church many times, and even gone in on a few occasions when her parents went through their religious phases (which never lasted more than a month). With some effort she pulled open the heavy doors and was greeted by nothing but the scraping sound of the door shutting behind her. 

She stepped lightly, suddenly aware of how heavy her footfalls were.

“Anyone there?” She asked - looking for the church administrator she spoke with over the phone. What was her name? Lisa? She should have asked more questions.

The quiet space felt oddly reverent, even though she didn’t believe in any of this stuff anyway, she still felt compelled to be respectful.

“Hello?” She tried again - this time toward the narrow staircase by the door.

____________________________________________________________________________

He was so wrapped up in his notes that he almost didn’t hear it. He’d almost forgotten Lucy was down there - likely wanting to finish showing him around.

“Up here!” He called back. Eyes flicking to his watch (he can’t believe it’s 4 p.m. already) he continued scratching a few final thoughts into his notebook, he was so close to being done he just wanted to finish up his final thoughts before his concentration was broken.  
____________________________________________________________________

Well, that certainly didn’t sound like a woman’s voice, but maybe the administrator had gone home for the day. She was supposed to be meeting the priest anyway. At least she’d written that one down. 

She turned her wrist as she climbed the stairs, looking down to refresh her memory of the man’s name. 

“Father Jones?” she asked, rounding the corner at the top of the stairs and coming to an open doorway. She knocked gently on the door frame before stepping into the small room. 

He began to speak without looking up “I’m so sorry, Lucy, I guess I lost track of-” the words died on his lips when he finally pulled his eyes up from his notebook. 

Standing before him was the most beautiful person he’d ever seen. She looked the way he always imagined the angels - long golden hair shining brightly in the sliver of sunlight coming through the window, emerald eyes vibrant with youthful vigor, pale skin that made his fingers twitch with a sudden desire to run his hands along it. 

“You’re -” [gorgeous] he thought, before clearing his throat. “You’re not Lucy.” He said dumbly. 

She laughed a little at his awkwardness. That was unexpected. In fact, all of him was unexpected. The first thing that struck her is how young he seemed when he looked up from his notebook innocently - prepared for a familiar face. He looked to be around 30, which is about half as old as she assumed he would be.

She couldn’t help but feel entranced by his eyes - a kind of greyish blue that managed to be both impossibly bright, but maintain a hint of something darker. Her eyes swept from his disheveled dark hair (he must’ve been running his hands through it, because it stuck up at charmingly funny angles) and followed his strong jawline peppered with stubble to his lips -- woah. He’s a priest - keep it together, she urged herself. 

He shook his head a little and stood suddenly, aware that his manners had gone completely astray. 

“So sorry for that. I’ve only just arrived, so I’ll blame my lack of decorum on being a bit out of sorts.” He came around the desk and held his hand out to hers, “Father Jones. And you are?”

His sultry accent catches her off guard - in her haste she hadn’t noticed it. It’s only when he quirks a questioning brow at her that she snaps out of it, realizing his hand is still extended, and she’s failed to introduce herself.

“Emma. Emma Nolan.” She manages to say through the handshake. He barely hears it over the sensation of her hand in his. “I’m here to set up my community service.”

“Community service?” He parrots back. “Lucy didn’t mention anything about that. Let me see if she’s still here.” He reaches over to the phone on his desk (luckily there’s a speed dial button marked “Reception” so he doesn’t look like a complete fool), but there’s no response.  
“Well, I suppose I’m on my own to figure this one out.” He concedes. “Did they give you any paperwork, Emma?”

“Yeah, I’ve got it in here somewhere…” She all but throws her messenger bag onto the chair and starts shuffling around inside. He chuckles inwardly at the state of her bag - not that he’d expect anything less by the look of her. 

She’s wearing scuffed black and white Chuck Taylors, a worn pair of jeans and a simple gray v-neck t-shirt. There’s a small silver pendant dangling in the V of her shirt, and he squints a little trying to make out the emblem on it [admittedly his eyes dart a little lower than that as well] before he notices that she’s found what she was looking for and was holding them out to him her eyes catching his.

Oh God. It must’ve looked like he was looking at… quick - make sure you mention the necklace so she doesn’t think… 

“That’s a pretty necklace you have there. What’s that emblem on it?” He can feel the blood rushing to his face - he’s blushing furiously. 

Emma can tell he’s uncomfortable - after all, she just caught him staring at her chest. 

That’s when inspiration strikes - she thinks to herself that this community service thing could be fun after all. He’s the most attractive man she’s ever seen, and the way he’s looking at her she knows he’s not unaffected.

“It’s a Swan.” She answers coolly, picking up her bag again and pulling her shoulders back a little to stick her chest out a touch - all under the guise of situating the strap (of course). 

“The community service coordinator’s number is on there” she points to the slightly trampled looking pages in his hand. He notices she’s wearing what looks like a bootlace on her wrist. Odd. 

“And I guess you need to know how to get a hold of me…” she pulls a Sharpie out of her bag and reaches for his other hand. He sucks in a breath harshly at her movement as she uncaps the pen with her teeth. She jots her number on the back of his hand and blinks up at him through her long lashes.

He’s no longer worried about the blush in his cheeks - it feels like all of the blood in his body is suddenly much farther south. 

She pops the cap back on the pen and heads for the door, looking back over her shoulder to toss him the most casual “Father Jones” she can muster. 

With the close of the door he finally exhales and drops his head to the desk with a thunk. 

He’s in a lot of trouble already - and it’s only his first day.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Emma's flirty phone manner leads to some "self study"

50 hours in the next six months. He’ll have to see her for 50 hours in the next six months. 

Killian runs his hand through his hair roughly - not paying attention to the fact that it makes him look just as addled as he feels. 

She’ll have to be supervised, of course, and his mind reels with any possible way that she can work with anyone else at the church. 

Not likely - in the past few days he’s come to realize that it’s essentially just him and Lucy here. There were a few regulars at the parish who volunteered as ushers and making coffee, but himself and Lucy were the only actual employees. 

He sighed deeply, resigning himself to the fact that he would just have to deal with it. He thinks to himself “See it as a test, Jones. A chance to show God how far you’ve come. You’ve faced temptation before and come out the better for it. This is no different.”

Except it feels like it is.   
_________________________________________________________________________

“Miss Nolan?” His voice is shaking almost as much as his hand - her phone number now faded on his skin, the greying ink spiderwebbing a bit - making the numbers look a little fuzzy around the edges. 

“Yea. Who’s this?” Her voice sounds so flat through the phone. 

“It’s Father Jones, from St. Josephs?”

He can practically hear her demeanor change, even before she’s opened her mouth. 

“Ooooh, Father Jones. How are you?” It’s like she’s a different person now - her voice all silk and honey, teasingly drawing out her vowels. 

“I’m doing well, thank you. I’m calling about your community service,” he swallowed hard - trying to calm his nerves and keep up the professional tone. “Are there any programs in particular you’re interested in? Maybe helping Lucy with some clerical work?” 

She noticed the hopeful tone in his voice at that last suggestion. He was deliberately trying to pawn her off. She smiled darkly to herself - she was going to absolutely torture him. 

“You know, Father, I was really thinking something a little more - intimate.” His breath hitches at the way her voice drops lower at the word.

Holy hell.   
He clears his throat in an attempt to shake it off - regain control, but it doesn’t do anything to abate the intense desire he feels blooming. He needs to get off the phone. Now. 

“I’m not sure what you mean by that Miss Nolan, but I’m sure Lucy can provide you with a list of suitable endeavors. I’ll have her call you tomorrow. Good evening.” He hurries through his goodbye and doesn’t wait for her response before hanging up. 

Leaning back in his chair, staring at the grain of the wooden beams in the ceiling, he takes a few deep breaths and tries to convince himself that he misheard her. He misinterpreted things. She couldn’t have been...flirting?... with him. 

Or maybe she’s one of those women who has a thing for… Oh God. He desperately needs to think about something else. He can feel himself starting to twitch and harden just thinking about it. 

He roughly presses the heel of his hands into his closed eyes - trying to crush the onslaught of inappropriate images - though it doesn’t seem to do any good. He mutters a few prayers through gritted teeth, but despite his best efforts he’s hardening further - there’s no point in fighting it now, his pants are growing uncomfortably tight. 

Cursing under his breath he admits defeat and calls down to Lucy and tells her to take a half day. She protests, so he tells her he needs her to visit Emma’s probation officer and put together a list of suitable activities for her community service. 

She seems satisfied with the task - and he stands at the window to make sure she’s really gone before palming himself through the thick black fabric. Even just at this, he hisses. He’d forgotten just how good this feels. 

It’s been years since he touched himself. Through seminary he took it as a personal challenge to show the extent of his willpower, but all of that came crashing down when he heard her talking like that. 

He resigns himself to his sin, and decides he’ll just have to ask for forgiveness later. He hastily undoes his pants and settles into his desk chair with his knees falling to the side. He lifts his hips to pull his briefs down and takes a deep breath at the relief of being free from their confines. 

Bringing his hand to his lips he licks a solid stripe along his palm before lightly moving it over himself. He shudders at the intensity of the feeling - he won’t last. It’s been so long. He squeezes himself a little harder, his hand moving along himself of it’s own accord.

He’s panting and groaning now - and with his eyes screwed shut he’s assaulted with unwelcome images of Emma on her knees between his legs, writhing underneath him, bouncing on top of him, riding him hard. 

His stomach does a somersault as he feels his balls tighten up, and he nearly screams with pleasure as he spurts his release into his hand. His vision goes dark with exhaustion and satisfaction. 

He tucks himself away before his vision clears again and heads to the bathroom to clean himself up. There’s no doubt in his mind he’ll be doing that again. It’s amazing that he went so long without it, and with 50 hours of Emma in his life, there’s just no way he’ll make it without doing something.

This woman is going to be the death of him. 

\----------------------------------------------------------------

Emma laughs heartily at how successful she was at unnerving Father Jones. There’s something deeply satisfying in taking someone whose entire identity is their superior purity - and take them down a notch. Remind them they’re no better than anyone else. Not to mention she loved the feeling of being in control. 

She knows she already has this guy wrapped around her finger - and that he likely had his fingers wrapped around himself after that phone call. Her mind starts to wander as she imagines him touching himself because of her words, and she’s surprised at how her body responds.

She quickly finds herself soaking wet and rolling her hips thoughtlessly. Might as well enjoy the depravity - she thinks to herself, walking over to flip the lock on her door and popping the button on her jeans - dipping her hand into her pants as she walks over to her bed. 

Settling on her back, she doesn’t bother removing her pants, her fingers deftly rub tight circles over her sensitive bundle of nerves. Bringing her hand even further down she dips her fingers lightly into herself, coating her fingers before swiping them back up to her clit. 

The added slickness is what does her in - and images of the ordinarily uptight priest with his head thrown back in pleasure (still wearing his clerical collar no less) accompany her release as the tight coil of desire finally snaps. Toes curled, jaw held open in a silent cry her body spasms as she rides out the waves of her orgasm. 

It’s one of the best orgasms she’s had in a while - something about the juxtaposition of someone who is supposed to be so innocent in such a decidedly sinful situation. Who would’ve guessed she’d be turned on by the whole “naughty priest” thing? 

If she can have that great of an orgasm just thinking of this man, she can’t even imagine would it would be like if it was his hands on her, or his tongue...

That night she had vivid dreams of her naughty priest in all kinds of compromising positions, and when she wakes up she reaches over to her phone and opens up her notepad application, jotting down a few ideas for future use with Father Jones. 

First up - the confessional.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dirty-talking in the confessional

Coming into his office early that morning he was greeted with a sheet of paper with a bright yellow sticky note in Lucy’s careful and elegant handwriting “All taken care of.” 

Lucy had handled everything - that woman is truly a Godsend - but his peace is short-lived. 

As he peels up the note he notices that it’s Emma’s volunteering schedule, and she’s opted to help out at the dinners for the homeless and the AA meetings. 

The latter is both interesting and problematic - since he has been planning to not only run the meetings, but participate in them. They’ve been a source of comfort to him ever since the day Father Brannan dragged his rum-soaked self to a meeting. 

He wanted to hate them - the arrogance of thinking that a bunch of strangers actually want to sit in spectacularly uncomfortable chairs, drinking lukewarm bitter coffee and pretend to listen to your sob story - but that’s not what it ever was. Everyone else was just as lost and hopeless as him, and even those who’d been sober for years seemed to have a healthy respect for those who’d fallen short yet again. 

It’s been 2 years for him. And he knows that despite his discomfort, he’ll just have to deal with her presence at the meetings. Even if nobody else in the town shows up - he needs the them for himself. The first gathering isn’t scheduled for another few days, so he’ll have some time to pray about it and gather the strength to stay focused. 

Besides, he’s got work to do - and he’s spent far too long sitting at his desk thinking of her. Time to get on with it. 

\--------------------------------------

She’d gotten off from work a little early, having tracked down her latest bail jumper quicker than she anticipated. Her boss joked that either the criminals were getting dumber, or she was getting pretty damn good at this. 

The walk back to her apartment was short, but in the few minutes that it took to get home her mind had drifted back to the church and the sinfully attractive Father Jones. Once home, she kicks off her shoes and starts picking up a little. It’s mostly take out containers and glasses left on the counters and coffee table, so it doesn’t take long.

She flops onto her bed - feeling fitful with the leftover adrenaline from the chase, and nothing left to do. Rolling over onto her stomach she reached to pull her phone from the back pocket of her jeans - 4:03 p.m. Still pretty early, really. 

Maybe a run would help. 

She slipped into some spandex leggings and her favorite sports bra and strapped her phone to her arm before pulling her hair into a quick ponytail.

\-------------------------------------  
He was having a really productive day. A phone conference with the Bishop [checking up on him to see how he was settling in], sermons prepared for the next 3 weeks and a pre-marital counseling meeting with a young couple left him feeling encouraged and energized. Maybe he could do this after all. 

“Lucy?” He came down the narrow stairs to find her replenishing a few pamphlets by the door [his eyes landed on the one about sexual immorality and he cursed inwardly at how obvious God can be sometimes.]

“Yes, Father?” She turned to face him and he saw concern cloud her features momentarily. “Are you feeling OK? You look a little flushed?” 

“Just need a little fresh air I think. I was just coming down to let you know I’m going for a brief walk. If anyone stops by and you happen to need me, I have my cell.” 

“Of course, Father. Take your time.” She smiled sweetly and continued her task. 

The air was crisp and refreshing after spending all day inside and for a while the only sounds he hear were the crunch of gravel and leaves beneath his feet and the prayers in his mind. He found himself praying for God’s wisdom as he shared the word with his parishioners. He prayed for God’s grace and forgiveness with his mistakes and his sins. He prayed for the strength to stay on the path to the narrow gate.

But even in the prayer for forgiveness, his mind wandered back to the source of his struggles. Emma. 

He found it disconcerting that he’d only met her the once, talked to her on the phone briefly, and he’d been dreaming about her, fantasizing about her, touching himself to the thought of her hands and lips on him. 

The buzzing of his phone was a welcome interruption, and he quickly recognized the church’s phone number on his screen. 

“Hi Lucy, I was just headed back” he said, holding the phone to his ear and turning back toward the church - he could cut through the park and make it back a little quicker. 

“Oh, good! I wouldn’t have bothered you, but there’s someone here for confession, and I’m afraid I can’t be of much help with that.” Lucy laughed in response. 

“No, I suppose not,” he chuckled with her. “I’ll be there in just a few minutes.” 

He slipped the phone back in his pocket and picked up the pace a little, not wanting to make a bad impression by leaving a churchgoer waiting too long.

\-------------------------------  
She was only a mile in when Hozier’s Take Me to Church came on and made her want an entirely different kind of workout. Smiling to herself, she thought this might be a perfect opportunity to start on her list. 

After all, the song inspired quite a few sinful thoughts, and she might feel better baring her soul (and maybe something else) in the confessional.

The secretary gave her a dirty look being in just her workout gear, but it was just a moment later that she got a call and with the phone to hear ear motioned to Emma that she could wait in the confessional. 

\----------------------------

He opened the main doors and was confused when he saw nobody around. His heart fell briefly, thinking he’d taken too long - his mind immediately conjuring an upset phone call from the Bishop about an anonymous complaint about his disappearance. 

Just then a flustered Lucy came around the corner with her purse. “I’m so sorry, I have to take off a little early - my mother…” 

Her mother had been in the hospital for months recovering for a series of strokes, and his heart broke for her. He’d insisted she take more flexible hours to visit her whenever she wanted - and to be there when the doctors needed to talk about treatments.

“It’s alright, Lucy. Go ahead.” Killian said soothingly, holding the door open for her. 

“She’s in the confessional, by the way. Just went in a minute ago.” Lucy added as she made her way through the door.

“Oh, thank you Lord,” He thought to himself, making his way to the confessional. 

He absentmindedly straightens his collar - it’s not like they can see him in there anyway, but it makes him feel better nonetheless - as he steps inside. The old wood groans a little under his weight as he settles on the bench and clears his throat to let the parishioner know he’s arrived. 

Sometimes he likes to start confession with a scripture reading, but he doesn’t have anything prepared, and he’s hopeful they won’t think any lesser of him for it. 

A delicate voice greets him - maybe even a little familiar.

“Bless me Father, for I have sinned. It’s been -- well, actually, this is my first confession.”

She starts to wonder if he recognizes her yet, after all, they’d only met once, and only spoken briefly over the phone - and he’s been so deathly quiet she’s not entirely convinced he’s still in there. 

He’s holding his breath - that sounds an awful lot like…

“And what are your sins?” It takes all of his concentration to keep his voice steady.   
She smiles wickedly at the obvious tension in his voice. Oh, he knows it’s her. 

“Oh, Father - I’ve been a very very bad girl.” She almost laughs at the cheesy line, but the way he groans lets her know she’s on the right track. 

God, she’s trying to kill him.

“Is that so?” He tosses back. He knows he shouldn’t be playing this game, but the confessional makes it feel anonymous. 

“Yes, Father. I’ve been having the dirtiest thoughts about a certain man. I think about him while I’m at work, when I’m at home, when I’m in the shower…”

She’s hoping her breathy teasing words are having the desired effect - lord knows it’s making her want him in all of those places she just mentioned. 

His head falls back as he lets her words wash over him, the steady hum of arousal making it hard to the think of anything but what he wants to do with her right now. His breathing is labored and he’s impatient for her to continue. 

“I think of him when I touch myself,” she relishes the thought of torturing him with these images, and the sound that comes from the grate is more of a growl than anything else - feral and desperate. 

“I imagine his mouth on my breasts, his hands trailing down my stomach, my hips, his fingers dipping inside me, seeing his head between my legs - his talented tongue making me come over and over until I’m screaming his name.”

Holy hell. She really is trying to kill him. He’s harder than he’s ever been in his life, it’s almost painful - and he feels like he’ll come just listening to her. He starts rubbing himself through the fabric of his pants to try and relieve some of the pressure, but he knows this is only going to end one way. 

“In fact,” she reaches down and dips her hand into her jogging pants - the stretchy material accommodating her slow and deliberate movements (she’s a little surprised at how wet she is just knowing she’s working him up.) “I’m touching myself now just talking about it.”

Why is she doing this to him? Just to tease and torment him? She’s reduced him to pure animalistic lust, and yet again, he gives in to it. 

He hastily pops the button on his pants and pulls the zipper down, hoping nobody else comes into the church to see or hear what they’re up to. He drags his tongue lasciviously along the palm of his hand, bringing it down to his generous length.   
He hisses at the contact, squeezing gently as he starts to roll his hips upward in a slightly circular motion. 

“Don’t stop now, tell me more about this man.” He’s practically begging her. 

She feels a rush of arousal at his insistence. 

“He’s off-limits. Forbidden fruit. He’s supposed to be the epitome of innocence, but every time i think of him I just want to shove him up against the wall and fuck him senseless.” 

He swallows thickly as his hips and hand picks up speed.

“Tell me, Father. Tell me what I do to you.” She says breathlessly as she feels her orgasm building low in her stomach. 

“I can’t stop thinking about you. I want you so badly.” He screws his eyes shut as he allows the sensations to take him over.

“Just knowing you’re right there, thinking of me and touching yourself, riding your fingers and wishing it was me inside you - stretching you.”

He feels so deliciously filthy talking like this, doing this, in the confessional no less. There’s a special level of hell reserved for him now, but he can’t bring himself to care. 

She’s short of breath now and he can hear her soft groans and mewls through the grate and he knows she must be close, and knowing she’s so close renders him speechless. She’s quick to fill the silence.

“I want you too, I want it to be you between my legs instead of my fingers - I want to watch your cock disappear inside of me and watch as you drive into my tight pussy over and over - and - oh - God - oh - God, yes!”

Her orgasm hits her and she’s seeing stars as her walls spasm around her fingers, rolling her hips a little to ride out the waves of pleasure. Hearing her cry out is what sends him over the edge, and he lets out a sharp yelp as his release spurts into his hand. 

He hasn’t even caught his breath before he’s tucking himself away again, suddenly aware of just how dangerous that was.

“You’re forgiven,” he states simply, and he leaves the confessional and goes straight upstairs to his office - unable to face her. 

He falls to his knees and prays for forgiveness, prays for the strength to resist her - but there’s splinter in his brain that tells him it’s useless. 

She straightens her clothes and strides out of the church with flushed cheeks and a smug grin. 

Who knew confessions could be so satisfying?


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Emma sexts Father Jones -- while he's at the pulpit.

More than once she’d thought about moving. It’s not that she didn’t like her job, or her family really (as much as she loved to complain about them). She couldn’t shake this feeling like she was a loser for still being in Storybrooke. 

This was especially apparent on days like today - she’d agreed to run errands with her mother (“we hardly ever see you anymore”) and the final pillars of her patience were propped up only by the double dirty chai latte with cinnamon she’d been nursing for the past hour.

Her mother had been rambling endlessly about how things were at school (she’d taught the 2nd grade for 15 years now) and despite her best efforts, she was starting to zone out. 

“... you know, the one just off of main street?” Mary Margaret’s eyes roamed her daughter, unsure if she was still following the conversation. 

“I’m sorry, what?” Emma snapped out of her daze.

“The Catholic church just off main street. Your father wants to start going to church again.” Mary Margaret repeated.

“Huh. Any reason in particular?” Emma’s heart sped up at the mention of the church, the memory of her recent “confession” still fresh in her mind.

“I don’t think there’s some specific reason, but you know he went every Sunday with his mother - and he just misses her so much sometimes.” Her mother’s eyes welled up almost imperceptibly at her husband’s pain. 

David and his mother had always been incredibly close, and when cancer claimed her life a few years back, he’d nearly lost it. 

“I know it’s been a few years, but, maybe it’s just a way to feel close to her. Anyway, we’re going this Sunday.”

“Well, maybe I’ll come with you guys,” Emma chimed in. 

The look on her mother’s face was a priceless combination of shock and confusion that had Emma laughing so hard she doubled over and almost spilled her drink.

“Geez, mom! It’s not like I’m a Satanist or something!” She was still chuckling as her mother tried desperately to mitigate the harshness of her reaction. 

“No, I know that, of course. I think that would be wonderful. I just never… I’m just surprised is all. I can’t imagine you in a church.” Mary Margaret was clearly both amused and delighted at the idea. 

“Are you sure you want me to come? I might pull an Al Pacino and get burned by the holy water with all my evil-ness on such hallowed ground,” Emma teased. 

“Really, though - all joking aside - we’d love that.” Mary Margaret combats her daughter’s flippant comments with deliberate sincerity. 

“It’s a date.” Emma smiles sweetly in response - belying the decidedly sinful reason behind her sudden interest in the church.   
___________________________________

He’d been struggling to come up with this week’s sermon, which was frustrating after he’d been on such a roll. 

Maybe a Psalm? Perhaps the Sermon on the Mount? Some of the I Am statements?

Running his hand roughly through his hair, he leans back in his chair and stares at the ceiling - as if by some miracle the words would appear before him on the wooden beams. 

He knew exactly what God wanted him to talk about, but he refused to acknowledge it. 

The signs were everywhere: the damn pamphlet that was exactly the same as all the others, but somehow stood out every time he walked by, as if it was inked in neon; that Nolan girl’s phone number scrawled on a post-it after it had faded from his skin; the confessional booth that he could hardly look at anymore without practically drowning in the stormy sea of his guilty conscience.

Sexual immorality. That’s the topic that’s been thrown in his face over and over again, but talking about it would make it too real - and he’s convinced that every single person in the pews would somehow know the topic was close to home. 

After wrestling with it for another day, he decided he just couldn’t wait any longer. Maybe if he tackled it head-on God would cut him some slack and make this whole situation easier somehow. It’d be a miracle, and though he’d studied them, he had never really believed in them. 

Once he finally accepted that he had to talk about sexual immorality, the sermon came to him easily. Finding the words and the commands were never difficult - it was just following them that he struggled with. 

Next up was preparing the slides. It had irked some of the more traditional parishioners that he used his phone from the pulpit to direct the slides himself, but he’d always been adept with technology, and he preferred to run the service himself. 

He was halfway through preparing the slides when a text popped up from a number he didn’t recognize. 

It simply read: Father Jones? 

Curious. He tried to think about who he’d given his cell number to recently, but nobody came to mind. 

That’s correct. I’m sorry, but I don’t have your number saved. Who am I speaking with?

His friends in seminary used to tease him about how formal he was in text messages, but he never could bring himself to use misspelled abbreviations when it only saved three seconds of typing, but caused four minutes of confusion to decode. 

You’ll see. Just wanted to make sure I had the right number. ;)

His eyebrow quirked skyward at the cheeky response. It had to be Emma. But how did she get his number? And what did she mean by “You’ll see”?

He didn’t have much time to think about it, as Lucy rapped on the door frame with a few visitors in tow for a quick introduction and tour. 

“Mr. and Mrs. Nolan, this is Father Jones. Father Jones, Mr. and Mrs. Nolan.” 

His heart jumped into his throat as he took in the sight of them [her parents?!]. They were the very picture of classic American suburbanites.

He was tall, handsome and clean cut, wearing jeans and a plaid shirt with the sleeves rolled up. She was petite, but held a quiet confidence and strength behind her friendly features. 

After shaking their hands he manages to find his voice. 

“Very nice to meet you both. Any relation to Emma Nolan?”

The look of surprise at his mention of her must mean that the didn’t know about her community service assignment. 

“She’s our daughter, but how do you know her?” Mary Margaret asks. 

He’s suddenly extremely nervous. How much is he supposed to say? Should he say anything at all? He hardly knows Emma, but he bristles at the thought of upsetting her by sharing more with her parents than she’d like. 

“She’s been looking into volunteering here. We met briefly to discuss programs that may be of some interest to her.” There. Vague enough, and not lying, but doesn’t give too much away. 

The look on David’s face could best be described as skeptical, but for some strange reason Mary Margaret seems a little more accepting, though very ready to change the subject. 

“Well, as the town sheriff, I thought I’d finally drop by and introduce myself,” David picks up on his wife’s unease and redirects the conversation. “We’ve been trying to get better about attending regularly, but, you know how it goes.”

“Aye. It can be difficult sometimes, but I applaud your dedication and efforts to make God and the church a part of your life. Will I see you for mass tomorrow then?” He stands up and leads them to the door of his office. 

“Yes, Father. Looking forward to it.” Mary Margaret says cheerily and Lucy follows them out, shutting the door behind them. 

He’s left wholly unsettled. She’s the sheriff’s daughter. Of course she is. 

Determined to overcome his indecent thoughts (and recently actions), he threw himself into crafting his sermon - skipping dinner altogether until the damn thing was finished. It was as if each line was part of a conversation with his inner-demons. 

The sermon was essentially a war with himself - chastising, persuading, begging. He knew all the words about how he should be, all the words about why this was sinful and wrong, all the words about why he was going to hell for embracing it and falling short of his calling - but by the end he just felt exhausted and guilty.

He needed to sleep. He’d have to be at the pulpit in the morning - and Lord knows this wasn’t going to be an easy topic. 

The next morning he steeled himself for the task ahead - buried in the routine of the rest of the service. That’s one thing he’d always loved about the Catholic church - so much of it was so routine for him now that he could do it backward, forward and blindfolded. There was some comfort in that.

But all too quickly the routine was complete and all eyes and ears were on him - waiting for his message. He set in explaining their topic for the day and scanned the pews just like he did every other Sunday. 

“It may be an uncomfortable topic, but it’s one that is incredibly important. Especially in our modern age when it seems that sensuality and sex is everywhere you look.”

His eyes land on Mr. and Mrs. Nolan, the prim epitome of the attentive churchgoer. But right next to her father was Emma -- and the sight of her made him want to throw up. He felt his face go pale as his stomach dropped. 

Why on earth was she here?! Oh God. Oh God. She’s going to know this is all about her. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. 

It was only when she smirked at him and looked to the others to the right and left of her that he realized he’d fallen silent. 

“Sexual immorality.” With extraordinary effort he forced himself to continue. 

For the first 10 minutes he managed to drag himself through the message. Adultery and divorce were relatively easy - and he felt like God was guiding him - helping him hit his stride. Maybe he could do this after all.

He used his phone to pull up the next set of slides about lust (purposefully avoiding the entire right side of the church) and as soon as he got the scripture up the phone vibrated against his fingers and a message popped up. 

Enjoy the show ;)

It was at that moment he thanked God for the feature on the program that only showed the slides and not everything that happened on his phone - because a picture that came up nearly stopped his heart, and he can only imagine what it would have done to the 88-year-old Mrs. Clarke in the front row. 

Emma Swan’s likeness was on his screen - from her bare shoulders up, lips caressing a bright red and shining wet lollipop, her cheeks hollowed suggestively and her eyes alight with mischief. The blood running through his veins was at once ice from the shock, and fire from the arousal the image conjured.

His eyes flicked to her sitting serenely in the pews with her parents - the ghost of a smirk on her lips, knowing what he’d just seen. She must have set the text on a timer - her hands were still folded neatly in her lap - phone nowhere in sight. 

He cleared his throat and attempted to carry on with the sermon, but for the next 30 minutes another picture flashed on his phone every 5 minutes - without fail. 

They got progressively more obscene -- the lollipop, a close up of her face contorted in pleasure, the artful gentle curve of her nude hip and taught stomach, her own hand palming her chest - pink nipples pert and responsive, her hand between her legs followed by another lollipop-like picture - with the candy replaced by two wet fingers.  
By the end of the sermon he was painfully hard and dizzy with arousal. He quickly left the pulpit and sought refuge in the small room where they stored the elements of communion. He knew he didn’t have much time (he’d already broken tradition by slipping in here for just a moment, but he couldn’t very well walk about with his robes tented in that particular area, as it were. 

He adjusted himself (luckily the robes hid the bulge incredibly well), and stepped back out to complete the service, skipping announcements entirely and opting to dismiss everyone right away. 

As much as he wanted to disappear into his office and relieve the half-hour of extreme sexual tension she’d created, he knew he had to bid a few parishioners farewell to keep up appearances. He stood at the door and said thank you to those who came to the service (he could overhear more than one hushed conversation about what a strange service it was, and how off he seemed). 

The Nolan family came up through the crowd and David shook his hand and complimented him on the service, Emma following closely behind. She took the opportunity in the shuffle to get a little closer to him and he could feel his heart pounding in his chest as she slipped her hand down and behind her as she walked by, firmly grabbing his ass for just a second before continuing out as if nothing had happened. 

He cursed under his breath, she was playing with fire. 

Finally, he was able to escape to his office - taking the steps two at a time and throwing the door shut, flipping the lock in one fluid motion.

He had the traditional robes off and his hand down his pants in record time - he hadn’t even bothered to sit down and make himself comfortable. He knew it wouldn’t take long. 

Tossing his phone onto the wooden desk he pulled his hand back long enough to flip back to the pictures she’d sent him and spit into his palm before continuing to work himself from base to tip. 

It only took a minute for that familiar feeling to settle low in his stomach, his muscles drawing tightly, hips rocking in time with his hand rolling over the ridge and head of his cock in earnest - chasing his pleasure. 

His hips stuttered and he choked back a grunt as he came into his hand - eyes fixed on the image of Emma’s face as she was in the throes of the same kind of ecstasy. 

He shuddered and fell back into the visitor’s chair in his office - exhausted and sated as he tucked himself away and grabbed a few tissues to clean himself up.

This woman had no shame. She was sexting him during a sermon, and (God help him) he loved every filthy minute of it. He knew he should delete the pictures to help steel himself against further indiscretion, but he just couldn’t bring himself to do it.

As much as he hated to admit it, once she set her sights on him - he never stood a chance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those of you who haven't seen the movie Devil's Advocate - Al Pacino plays the devil, and when he puts his finger in the holy water it bubbles and hisses. That's what Emma was referring to with Mary Margaret. 
> 
> Video in case you want to see: https://coub.com/view/49z70


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Emma's first night of actual community service - helping set up and break down for the AA meeting, in which she learns all about Father Jones.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning - this is a smutless chapter. Weird, I know. Don't worry, it'll be back. I just felt like we really needed to see Emma struggling with this strange desire to actually get to know this guy.

He’d been looking forward to and dreading this day. On the one hand - he was desperately in need of the support he usually gets from AA meetings. On the other - she’d be there. 

More than once in the past week he’d almost sought the refuge of his poison of choice. He wanted to drown in the stormy seas of shame and guilt and never come up for air. 

But, he knew with enough determination he could make it through - after all, he’s been through worse. He absentmindedly rubbed at the stunted end of his left arm - the prosthetic hand laying on the nightstand next to his bed. 

The doctors had done an excellent job all things considered, but there were angry red marks where the skin was marred by the intricate scars that crawled up his forearm.

Most of the time he was mindful to not use that hand much people didn’t always notice something was wrong, and it helped that the traditional robes he wore so often were actually a little too long in the arms and covered a little more than they’re meant to.

In fact, he’s fairly certain Emma hasn’t noticed yet. The first time they met, his fake hand was either under the table or in his pocket. The second time she couldn’t see him at all - that being part of the point of the confessional. The third he was at the pulpit, and out of habit he mostly kept that hand at his side and out of sight while preaching. 

After picking up a coffee from Granny’s (he’d become rather fond of the local diner he walked by every morning on his way to the church) he checked in with Lucy about the schedule for the day. There were a few administrative tasks to sort out, and she said they were expecting about four people for tonight’s meeting. Emma would be there 30 minutes early for set up.

There’s the dread again. Determined not to let Lucy see his concern at Emma’s name he excused himself and set about getting through his day. He did have a meeting to plan, after all. 

____________________________

She’d been looking forward to this for a while. Well, not the meeting - but the excuse to be around him. 

Her latest idea had gone surprisingly well. The stunned look on his face when he got that first message - the way he went pale and rigid (likely in more ways than one) made her grin like the cheshire cat. 

She told herself it was all about the game. She liked messing with him - toying with him - unsettling him. She liked the idea of corrupting someone who claimed to be pure and righteous - take them down a peg. 

Of course the truth was much more complicated. It was something in his eyes, she thought to herself. There was the facade of how he knew he should look and act, but there was something profoundly sad and broken behind it. 

She found herself wanting to know more about him, his past - what put that melancholy tinge in his gaze, why he became a priest, all of it. 

There was a kind of connection there that she didn’t understand yet, like they had more in common than she thought possible. 

Tonight was her first night of community service, and she was looking forward to seeing him again - but this time would be different. This time, no teasing. She would just observe. 

Work was easy that day - mostly just catching up on paperwork - and as soon as 5 p.m. rolled around she was up and out, happy for the excuse to be done with the monotony of the bureaucratic aspect of her job. 

She came to the front entrance of the church, suddenly realizing she’d never asked exactly where she was supposed to go. 

As it happened, Killian was coming down the stairs at that very moment. 

She was taken aback by his appearance -- he was wearing his usual black slacks and black shirt, but this time without the white collar, it was open at the neck. Her eyes were drawn to it - imagining pressing kisses along the exposed column of this throat, the rumble of the sigh he’d undoubtedly let out at the contact. 

No. Just observing. 

“Miss Swan. You’re, uh,” he dug his phone from his pocket to check the time, “10 minutes early.” 

“I can go wait in the car -” she started, pointing back to the doors. 

“No, I didn’t mean… It’s fine, I was just surprised is all.” He fumbled with his words awkwardly. 

“Want to show me where the meeting will be?” She offered. 

“Of course. Follow me.” 

He led the way to a little room off on the other side of the church - she didn’t even know this was here. It was a kind of multipurpose room that looked like it was added many years later, the way it was kind of tacked onto the footprint of the rest of the building. 

There was a basketball hoop (just the one since it was a half-court), and a storage room with dusty folding chairs and tables. 

“We’re only expecting a few people tonight,” he was avoiding looking at her as he opened up the storage room door. “Probably 7 chairs will do - and a table for the coffee and cookies, which should be over on Lucy’s desk back in the main building. I’ve got a few things to finish up, but I’ll be back in a couple of minutes.” 

He gave her a quick smile and headed back toward the door.

“Oh, OK. I’ll get on it.” She said over her shoulder, heading into the storage room to grab the table. 

She went to pick it up and realized it was a little difficult to do by herself. 

“Actually,” she popped her head out of the room. “Could I get a hand with this table before you go?”

He chuckled a little at the irony of that one. 

“Of course.” He said politely as he walked back into the storage room. 

He gripped the near-side of the table with his good hand. “Ready there, lass?” 

She nodded and picked up her end. “One-handed, huh? Feel the need to show off a little, Father?” She teased him. 

So she really didn’t notice, he thought to himself before lifting the stiff prosthetic into the air. 

“Wouldn’t do much good anyway, would it?” He deadpanned. Confusion flashed in her eyes for a split second before she noticed his hand was unnaturally stiff, and she understood what he meant. 

How the hell didn’t she notice THAT? And oh my God she must seem like the biggest asshole right now…

“Oh, God, I didn’t -- I’m sorry. I didn’t know.” She scrambled to apologize.

“Really, it’s fine. I try not to make a show of it, so it’s kind of a compliment that you hadn’t noticed before now. It’s quite believable isn’t it? Until you notice that it doesn’t move, of course.”

She met the calm gray-blue depths of his eyes as they set the table down and saw in them the prologue of what was bound to be a fascinating story - and there it was again, this glimpse into the man behind the robes and tradition. It was a surprisingly intimate moment.

“How did it happen?” The words fell out before she could think better of it, and she realized she’d been staring at it. 

He turned abruptly, and headed for the door. She cursed herself, thinking she’d overstepped. 

He stopped at the door frame, but didn’t turn around.

“Are you staying for the meeting?” He asked. She furrowed her brow before he clarified, “I don’t exactly enjoy telling the story, and I was planning on sharing at the meeting. So if you’re sticking around I’ll only have to tell it the once.” 

“I’m staying.” She said quietly. 

“Good.” He replied before stepping out the door. 

\-------------------------------------------------

It’s funny, really, that for all of her boldness with him thus far, she’s nervous to get to know him. In some ways it’s easier for it to just be a game, not knowing anything about him, not caring to know anything about him. 

But she’s just so damn curious that she can’t help it. He’s different, and she just has to find out why. 

It only takes a few minutes for her to pull the cookies out and get the coffee brewing. She set up a few chairs and settled into one of them before a few other people found their way in. There was Leroy (no surprise there - her dad had thrown him in the drunk tank so many times she’d lost count), and a few other people she vaguely recognized - but she was sure all of them knew her. Small town and all. 

He came in just as it was time to start - and she couldn’t take her eyes off of him. He seemed … at ease as he settled into one of the chairs in the circle. 

“Hello, everyone. I’m glad you all made it out tonight. I’ll be leading us from now on - my name is Killian Jones, but you might know me as Father Jones.” He was strangely confident in this role - looking each of them in the eye as he spoke.

Emma found herself struggling to reconcile the prim and slightly nervous priest she was so accustomed to with this easy-going Killian. 

“I figured tonight I’ll take a few minutes to introduce myself, and tell you about my addiction, and then we’ll do the same around the room if that works for you all?” 

Everyone nodded silently in response. 

“Fantastic. Well, as I said, my name is Killian Jones, and I’m an alcoholic. I’ve been sober for 3 years 6 months and 12 days.” A few claps broke out around the circle at that. “Thank you. Really, it means a lot. I’ve been desperately missing these meetings. As you probably all know, I’m new here, and there have been many… temptations.” His eyes fell squarely on her at the word. 

“I’ve been struggling with many of my old demons in the past few weeks. Honestly, in other areas, I’ve slipped - and in that I’ve lost a part of myself that I’ve held quite dearly.” His eyes are hollow as he says it, and by the faraway gaze it’s apparent he’s deep in thoughts unsaid. 

“But I suppose I should start at the beginning. My father was an alcoholic, and a mean one at that. I have an older brother who used to help keep him in check, but he joined the Navy and was killed in action only a year later. One night my father had gotten rough with my mum, and I stepped in. Trouble was, she didn’t want me to rock the boat - she didn’t want to leave. So, I got this” he pointed to the sweeping scar on his cheek, “and I got kicked out.”

There was a deep ache in her chest hearing him talk about his past, which was so strange because she hardly knew him. It shouldn’t make her feel so desperately sad, but it did. 

“For a while I lived on the streets. There were many nights when I really didn’t think I was going to make it - I hadn’t eaten in days, I’d dump out trash bags and use them as makeshift sleeping bags, but it wasn’t always enough to stay warm.”

He paused and took a sip of his coffee - suddenly a little self-conscious that his story was so long. 

“Anyway, long story short, Father Brannan helped me piece together odd jobs until I was regularly employed at the docks and going to church regularly. I finally felt like I had my life together. There was an accident…” his voice slowed, clearly struggling to say the words, “and my hand was caught - and, well it was - crushed.” He lifted the prosthetic a little as he said it. 

“The doctors couldn’t save it. There was nothing left to save, really. I was devastated. I felt like I was cursed. Like if there was a God, he certainly hated me. Even though I’d sworn off alcohol to avoid becoming anything like my father -- in my despair I went to the rum. For a while it helped take the edge off. But then it just… didn’t. One night I decided to try and drink myself to death -- but when I woke up on the steps of the local church with a blanket around me I took it as a sign.” 

The anguish in his voice cut to her core - she squirmed in her seat hearing his voice rough with emotion at the memory. It was too much.

He stole a glance at Emma, curious how she’d respond to his history - and frankly a little nervous that he’d only see pity written into her features. Like she’d see him how he’d always seen himself; small, flawed and broken, and she would want nothing to do with him -- especially since he knew deep down that she was just using him as an outlet for her rebellious nature. It was never about him - it was about his job making him taboo. After this… he’d be too real now. The game is over.

What he saw was empathy. Not pity, exactly, though it was clear she was affected - but there was an intensity to the way she listened to him - like he really mattered, and that was a curious feeling.

“Father Brannan had saved my life,” he continued. “He encouraged me to go to seminary, lean on God. And here I am, 3 and a half years sober - and a priest.” He smiled genuinely at what he considered to be his “happy ending.” 

“So,” he huffed out a clearing breath. “Who else would like to share?”


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this one is REALLY long. Apologies. And -- smut is back, but not before a little angst.

He hadn’t heard from her in a week - and he was surprised at the knot in his stomach at the end of each day that passed without so much as a word. 

In the back of his mind he’d known that it was all a game to her. That if he got too close, too real, she’d pull away. But he couldn’t help the sharp sting of disappointment at her sudden silence.

It was stupid, really, that he felt so attached for some reason - but it felt so good to think that someone wanted him, that he was desirable (even if it wasn’t because of him, but rather just his job). 

But, alas, here he was, alone as ever, with a mile-long list of recent sins to atone for. 

For a long time while he was in seminary he’d kind of just ... lost … what was formerly a very active sex drive. He couldn’t explain why. Maybe it was just the stress of classes and trying not to disappoint Father Brannan, or maybe it was the fact that he was around men all day, which reduced the opportunity for temptation (at least for him - he recalled quite a few classmates who seemed to struggle nonetheless, and he’d be lying if he said he didn’t think about it a few times.)

After he met her it all came raging back. He couldn’t go a day without touching himself, thinking of her. He was revved up all the time. After the meeting it all went away - his overwhelming desire for her replaced with an all-encompassing self-loathing and guilt over his weakness and pride. 

Lucy was growing concerned at how sullen he’d been the past couple of days - and he wasn’t eating much. She meant well, but there’s no way to say “I was engaging in some incredibly satisfying sexual misconduct with the sheriff’s daughter, who no longer finds me appealing - and that’s really hurt my feelings.” 

He sighed deeply and resolved to get right with God about the whole thing. It was time to unburden his heart and stop sulking. He needed to admit defeat - she no longer desired him, priest kink or otherwise.

There was nobody in the church, so he felt comfortable lighting a few candles and settling on his knees in the first pew as he prayed. He was desperate to reconcile with God, desperate to rid himself of the turmoil he felt over his sin and her rejection. 

Whispers of his prayers fell gently from his lips as he worked through his guilt, and when he finally settled back into the wooden pew his knees were sore and his body exhausted - he’d been so tense that when he finally relaxed after his confessions to his Lord he felt like he’d just completed a marathon with a 50 lb hiking backpack. 

He sat back and let his head fall back and his eyelids fall closed in tired relief. Stretching his legs out in front of him he finally moved to get up, rolling his head in half circles to loosen the muscles of his neck.

“You look like you could use a neck rub.”

The voice startled him -- he didn’t even notice anyone come in -- but he was even more startled to see who the voice belonged to. Emma. 

You’ve got to be fucking kidding me. 

“What are you doing here?” Even to his own ears he sounded rude. His voice was raw and harsh. 

To be perfectly frank, he was unbelievably upset that she was there. It was literally mere seconds ago that he thought he might just be able to get past her, to get past them - whatever that meant. And right on cue, here she is. 

She wasn’t entirely sure what she was doing there. She hadn’t been able to bring herself to talk to him since the meeting. She thought about it, several times. There were a few text messages that were half-formed before being deleted. 

At first she tried picking up where she’d left off -- overt sexuality and heavy-handed innuendo -- but it just felt… wrong. Well, a different kind of wrong than it was before.

There was something about the broken way he told his story, and the genuine pleasure he had in describing how he’d come out of such dark times. It just made it impossible to treat him like… well, like nothing but a vessel for her fantasy. 

But she wasn’t quite ready to admit that she was actually interested in who he was, as a person - and his chosen profession was still a turn-on, but it was also a stumbling block. Why get attached to someone you can never have? 

It all didn’t change the fact that she had this nagging feeling - she couldn’t leave things like that. She’d have to see him again anyway, with more community service on the way. But how does she back off now after… well, after everything?

“I - I wanted to thank you.” 

The meek tone in her voice was unlike anything he’d ever heard from her before. He slowly walked toward where she was seated, toward the back of the church, careful not to look up at her.

“For what?” 

“I don’t know, exactly,” she shifted uncomfortably. “Your honesty, I guess. At the meeting.”

So we’re going to talk about that after all, he thought callously. 

“Hm,” he pulled up a few rows short of where she sat, leaning into one of the pews to straighten the bibles and hymnal books tucked into the chair backs. “I know you’re new to this, but that’s kind of the point of those things.”

Wow. Well, that’s not very priest-like, she thought at his brusque words.

A heavy silence fell between them, just long enough for him to regret letting his emotions get the better of him - he was being rather rude to her. He could practically see her walls being built up in the tension of her shoulders and the way her jaw set at his words. 

She stood up to leave, not in the mood to deal with his prickly demeanor.

“Wait - Miss. Nolan,” he stepped forward and reached a hand in her direction. “Please wait. I’m sorry. I just … I’ve got a confession of my own, if you’ll allow me.” He sighed as her hardened gaze met his pleading one. 

“Fine.” She crossed her arms over her chest impatiently. “Out with it.”

“Since they day you walked into my office wielding that damn Sharpie of yours, I’ve been unable to get you out of my head,” he looked her right in the eyes as he spoke - his sincerity apparent in every word. 

“And then you … well, uhm,” he scratched nervously behind his ear and a light flush rose to his cheeks. “You were… interested … in me, in a way that nobody has been for a very long time. And it felt incredible to be wanted, and desired in that way.”

“You are so very beautiful,” he was looking at her reverently now, his awkwardness softened into pure adoration. “You’re unlike anyone I’ve ever met, and you brought out this fierce need in me that I thought I’d conquered long ago. Yet here you were, lighting my heart aflame with desire for you in so many ways,” his eyes meandered the cut of her high cheekbones, her full pink lips - still parted slightly in surprise, the deep v of her gray t-shirt. He looked away sharply. 

“But I’m not an idiot, Emma,” he was staring at the floor now, the muscle on the side of his jaw ticking with tension. “I know what I was to you; just a game. An outlet for your little clergyman kink. And now that I’m not just a faceless priest, now that you’ve seen me for who I am - a weak and broken man,” she doesn’t miss the way his eyes dart to his prosthetic hand, “now you’ll want nothing to do with me. And I must admit, I’m hurt by that. As much as I don’t want to be.”

For being so quiet the past couple of days, he feels like he’s just spoken a novel in one breath, but he feels much better having finally said it all out loud. 

She looks stunned, and (God help him), even that look of shock is gorgeous on her - but his heart hurts at the knowledge that whatever they had is over. 

Granted, he knows it’s for the best. Nothing can happen between them - he’s a priest, after all. And if they continued they way they were going… there’s no amount of atonement to cover the number of sins he’d commit with her. 

“Father Jones?” Her voice wavered a little with uncertainty and he forced his stormy eyes to meet her emerald ones. 

“I’m still interested in you.” 

His heart hung frozen in his chest. 

“I was just toying with you at the beginning. But at the meeting, there was just something… It just felt different. I want you, not just the priest.” She stepped toward him, feeling a little braver with each word as she saw the hope returning to his eyes.

He looked years younger already, and it only made her find him that much more appealing.

“Don’t get me wrong, the priest thing is hot as hell,” he quirked an eyebrow up at that, and she continued to stalk down the aisle at him. “That might be what started it all, but it’s not the only reason I find you attractive.” 

She thinks you’re attractive. This… goddess, thinks you are attractive.

She’s close enough now to reach her hand to put her palm on his chest, and he gasps at the contact. She leans onto her toes (steadying herself with her hand on his chest) and whispers hotly into his ear.

“I still want you. All of you. If you still want me.” 

A shudder wracked through his entire body and his dormant desire for her suddenly raged full force again almost uncontrollably. 

He felt dizzy with arousal, but stayed remarkably still, convinced if he breathed too hard he would wake himself from what was surely the best dream he’s had in a long while. 

She kissed his cheek as she rolled back down onto her heels, letting the hand on his chest tease toward his belly button a little before pulling it back and smiling up at him. 

Though he enjoyed her spunky devil-may-care smirk, he worshipped her genuine smile - it was simply radiant.

“I do.” He stammered, in awe of her. “I think I will always want you.” He admitted, tucking a strand of her hair behind her ear. 

She reached up and took his hand, pressing a gentle kiss to it and watching him blush furiously - eyes darting to double check that they were alone. 

“Is Lucy around?” Emma asked. 

Killian cleared his throat “Yeah. Uh, she’s around here somewhere.” 

“I was thinking maybe you and I could go up to your office to go over my schedule, and I wouldn’t want her to misunderstand,” the mischief in her eyes would’ve told him that she had no intention of going over schedules if the drop in her tone did not. 

“I’ll take care of it,” he said quickly. Adjusting himself through his pants a little before setting off to find Lucy and send her on an errand. 

She actually laughed a little at how fast he moved after being nearly glued to that spot on the floor for so long. She smiled to herself as she made her way up the stairs to his office, but standing at the window she started to feel nervous.

She was so bold before because she knew it was nothing but sex - even if they’d never really touched each other.

This time - this was more real, and it terrified her. They were both a little emotional from their honest discussion and confession that they may feel something beyond simple sexual attraction.

Before she could get too lost in her thoughts she saw Lucy through the window, heading to her car. Killian was suddenly at the door, flipping the latch. 

“I locked the main doors as well, but… a little extra caution seems in order,” he explained awkwardly. He just stood there, staring at her, fidgeting a little - clearly unsure of what to do. 

For all of her anxiety just moments ago, seeing him here made her flush with desire. She knew there was no fighting it - she wanted him so desperately. 

In a matter of steps she was gripping the front of his shirt, pulling him forward into a bruising kiss, tongue sweeping into his mouth as he moaned with pleasure before returning her affections with equal fervor. 

All of that work praying to God, on his knees, desperate for forgiveness, and here he was willingly throwing it all away just to taste her. He’d do it again and again and again. 

She felt his good hand slide behind her head, fingers dancing through her hair and holding her in place as if she would leave if he let go. His insistence sent a bolt of arousal straight between her legs, and she knew she wasn’t going anywhere any time soon. 

Before long his hand drifted down to her waist, then lazily back up to her ribs and ever so slowly over to her breast before palming it through the fabric of her shirt. It wasn’t enough. He had to really feel her - now. 

He quickly brought his hand back down to the hem of her shirt and slid his hand under it, at first gripping her hip and pulling her into him roughly. 

Two can play at that game, she chuckled to herself before turning herself around in his arms and grinding her ass against him, feeling how hard he was through his pants and her jeans. He cursed under his breath and moved his hand further up her shirt and under her bra, moving his fingers lightly over her nipple, pinching lightly and savoring the small squeak of surprise that came from her. 

“You’ve no idea how badly I’ve wanted you,” he growled into her ear as she kept moving her hips rhythmically against him.

She flipped around in his arms again, this time bringing her hand down to cup his erection through his pants. 

“I think I have some idea,” she teased as he hissed through his teeth. 

She put her hands up over her head and tilted her head a little to the side, silently asking him to pull her shirt up. Once he was done, she popped the clerical collar from his shirt, and started working the buttons open, sliding her hands along the smooth planes of his chest. 

Her mind wandered a little as her hands explored the newly exposed skin - broad shoulders, tight abs, that perfect V at his hips leading her eyes exactly where he wanted her. It should be illegal for someone to look that hot. 

He was painfully hard, and anxiousness began to creep into his thoughts as she eyed him. Did she like what she saw? Was she disappointed? Was he enough? Were they really going to… I mean, we haven’t even really touched each other before now… I’ll never last the way I want to. 

“Hey.” She pulled his chin down a little to force him to look her in the eyes. “Come back to me.” 

He closed his eyes and touched his forehead to hers. 

“I’m nervous.” He admitted shyly. “It’s been… It’s been awhile.”

He blushed harder than she’d ever seen - all the way to the top of his ears. 

“Do you trust me?” She responded. 

“Aye.”

“Good.” She smirked up at him and pushed a finger into his chest to create a little space between them before snaking her hand down to his belt. 

She made quick work of his pants and boxers - she inhaled sharply when he was finally bare before her. He was long and thick, easily bigger than anyone she’d been with before.

He caught the way her eyes widened at seeing his fully erect member, a surge of pride bursting into his chest. 

She sank to her knees in front of him, carefully dragging her fingers along his smooth shaft, sending a ripple of pleasure so intensely through him he lost himself in the sensation. 

Wetting her lips she leaned forward and licked a tight circle around the ridge of his cock - feeling him jolt under her touch. He was velvet smooth and comfortingly warm as she worked her clever tongue around the head, curling around it before pushing him so deeply into her throat that her nose was pressed against his pelvis. 

He groaned with pleasure, already seeing stars as she continued to work her tongue over him. Praises and curses tumbled from his lips as he drowned in the sensation of her slick mouth moving over him at the perfect pace. 

“Oh, God, Emma…”

She felt his hand move to the back of her head, holding tightly to a fistful of her hair as he finally chanced a look down at her. The sight of her lips wrapped around him, cheeks hollowed as she sucked, reminded him of that tantalizing picture with the lollipop and he knew he couldn’t hold back any longer. 

“Fuck, Emma, I… can’t …” He closed his eyes in concentration - hand holding her just where he wanted her, hips stuttering a little as she took him all the way in and swallowed around him. 

“Holy… fucking hell!” The pressure of her throat pulsing as she swallowed again sent him over the edge - every muscle in his body tense as he spurt his release down her throat. She pulled back and lapped at him until he instinctively jerked away from her - too sensitive to her touch - as he regained his breath. 

“That was…” he sighed - looking utterly wrecked. “That was… uh…” 

She chuckled at his incoherence.

“That was just part one,” she teased, dipping her hand into her jeans - finding herself remarkably wet and ready for him. 

His eyes roved her hungrily - stepping forward to kiss her fiercely, the taste of himself on her lips intoxicating. She allowed him to take control, and he held her tightly at the waist, head tilting to get better access to her as his tongue sought hers. 

After a few minutes he broke away from her and turned to the cabinet holding his traditional Sunday robes. He pulled one out and unzipped it, laying it open as a makeshift blanket on the hardwood floor. 

He continued kissing her neck, tongue peeking out to lick a quick stripe from time to time as he led her down to the floor and onto her back. 

Looming over her he almost looked like a different person - blue eyes blown black with arousal, a new veracity in his features. He licked and sucked his way down her chest, using his good hand to pop the button and zipper on her jeans. 

Knowing he’d struggle to get her out of them one-handed, she shimmied them off while he nipped and laved - leaving her breathless and writhing beneath him. 

He smirked up at her rakishly before sliding down between her legs, settling his face exactly where she needed him - clit throbbing as he tentatively drug his fingers through her folds, spreading the evidence of her arousal up to her aching bundle of nerves. 

Inwardly, he worried a little about being out of practice - he hadn’t done this since Milah, and that was a lot longer ago than it felt sometimes. The soft mewls that left her parted lips chased away his fleeting insecurities and he refocused on the beautiful angel spread wantonly before him - resolute in his determination to bring her the kind of earth-shattering pleasure she’d shown him just moments ago. 

He bent down, bringing his lips to her, pressing gentle kisses all around her bare mound, circling closer and closer to his prize before settling there and rolling the flat of his tongue on her, eliciting a low groan from her throat as she squirmed under his attentions - all too much and not enough at the same time. 

He started working his tongue in earnest, licking and sucking until she was breathlessly panting. His good hand found it’s way to her clit, rubbing light circles as he continued tonguing her. 

“Oh God, yes! Father Jones... Don’t stop… I’m so close…” 

Her eyes were screwed shut in concentration, chasing her release. He lifted his eyes, desperate to see her fall apart, all because of him. His efforts were rewarded as she crashed over that glorious edge, her eyes springing open to watch him continue to push her through it as her orgasm rolled through her. 

He gave her just a moment to recover before leaning over and propping himself up on his elbow and looking up at her with pure contentment. That look should scare her, but she was too exhausted and sated to care. 

“Perhaps it’s time you start calling me Killian, lass.”


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Working out some feels, y'all. No smut here, but SOOOOOON

The landscape of his emotions had been changing so quickly he lost all sense of direction. In the span of a day he’d felt lovesick and tortured, guilty and remorseful, dirty and shameful, lonely and forgotten, hurt and empty, frustrated and callous, cautiously optimistic, hopeful, wanted, attractive, desirable. 

It was all too much to try and sift through right now. There was one thing he knew - he would never be the same. 

He didn’t remember any of the walk home that night - every muscle in his body still abuzz from his time with Emma - but he found himself spread eagle on his bed (shoes and all), hands behind his head, staring at the ceiling. 

It was as if the plain expanse of white was the screen of his mind’s eye, every delicious moment with his blonde goddess playing over and over and over again. All of a sudden his stomach lurched and he realized he hadn’t eaten all day. 

He absentmindedly boiled some noodles and tossed them in a little bit of olive oil before sprinkling dried basil and oregano over it. The simple dish was one he’d made many times - though in tougher times it was just plain noodles. He was a man of simple tastes, and while he appreciated good food, he never really could justify spending the time and money when it was just for himself. 

Tucking his feet under himself, he curled up on the couch with his bowl of noodles - looking at the TV, but not exactly watching it. He picked at his dinner, but there was a knot in his stomach that made his appetite waver. 

The abrupt turn of events with Emma was everything he wanted, but it also went against everything he stands for. As much as he wanted to simply bask in the incredible high, he knew that something had to be done. 

He couldn’t just ignore the fact that he was a Catholic Priest - and this was… wrong. He couldn’t stand there and spout doctrine about morality and all the while carry on a sexual relationship with a parishioner. 

And despite his recent laundry list of sins, he still desperately wanted to have a relationship with God. He couldn’t deny the constant struggle with his faith -- he’d always intellectually understood the importance of it, but in practice it’s much more difficult. 

There was this couple he knew when he was going through seminary that were the perfect example: They were sickeningly sweet, the kind of people who are so soft, and loving and kind to everyone that it made his fist twitch with an unnerving need to lash out and punch something. Hard. 

Before they were even married they agreed to host to two students taking a youth leadership course through a local church - house them, feed them, the works. He had a desk job (but not a great one) and she was a hairstylist. 

They both wanted a family right away, and she found out she was pregnant right after the wedding. A few months later he lost his job. They kept the two students in their home - confident that God would not only provide for them and their baby, but also the two teenagers they’d brought into the home. 

The entire time he just thought they were crazy. There’s “faith” and then there’s a blatant disregard for the way the world actually works. He’d spent many nights fuming over the fact that they were setting themselves up for failure, risking the security of their family for… well, for nothing. 

In the end, it somehow all worked out - which only made him more upset. They shouldn’t be rewarded for their stupidity like that. It’s not that he wanted them to fail, but at some point they have to learn that they can’t just leave everything up to “fate.” 

It’s like those awful parents who didn’t take their sick child to the hospital because they believe God would heal her if that was “his plan.” The whole thing disgusted him. 

He was determined to prove that you could be a practical modern man and also a man of the cloth. There has to be something in between. If he’s being candid, he knows he has swung a little too far the other direction - clinging to his own preparations and his own security, believing that it’s up to him (and him alone) to create the life he wants to live. 

And he does want that life to include God. That’s where things get complicated - how to balance the two. 

He leans forward to set the empty bowl on the coffee table, running his hand through his hair as he stretches back onto the couch. 

He’s a ball of contradictions - skepticism and faith, purity and lust, love and hatred - and he knows he’s going to have to sort it all out somehow, but the question is (as always), how?

\---------------------------------------------------------

She would be lying if she said she wasn’t surprised. I mean, she figured he hadn’t been born a priest, but holy hell the things that man could do with his tongue. She shivered a little at the bolt of arousal that shot through her at the memory. 

Smiling to herself, she figured he’s either incredibly lucky to be naturally talented in that department, or he’s done that many many times before.   
But he seemed so nervous at first, so unsure of himself. God forgive her, she found that shy awkwardness just as attractive as his more confident ministrations. 

What does she expect, though, really? He’s a priest - it’s not like next week he’s going to suddenly not be a priest. 

Her brain hiccups there. Is it like any other job? Could he quit being a priest? She shakes her head to clear the thought. Obviously he wants to be a priest, that’s why he became one. And even though she’s not much of a church-goer, the immense passion that he has while he’s at the pulpit is unmistakable. And they’re just… well, she doesn’t even know what they are. 

Ugh. Now she’s that girl. Sitting in her room thinking about “where this is going.” She hates those kinds of people. She’s never been the swooning type, and she’s frustrated that she finds herself short of breath thinking about him. He’s just a man - after all. 

After a restless night of sleep she’s hellbent on getting back to normal. So she likes this guy - that’s fine. But let’s not get ahead of ourselves. 

She decides to go for a run, work out some of the lingering feelings that make her veins itch fitfully. Her headphones aren’t in their usual spot, so she takes to rummaging around to find them. (Who is she kidding - there isn’t a “usual spot.”) 

After a few minutes of searching she spots them in a tangled heap on her bedside table. As she reaches to pick them up she notices the folded slip of paper they’re sitting on and she swallows thickly, turning it over in her hand. 

The list. 

That first night she’d had the most amazing dreams - flitting through fantasies she didn’t know she desired. At the time, the list was just a funny little personal challenge. He was hot and she needed an outlet for some pent up energy - not to mention it would be her crowning glory to corrupt such an upstanding pillar of morality. 

She wondered how much of that he understood. From their conversation the other day it was clear he knew she was just toying with him, but he couldn’t know why. He couldn’t know all of the emotional conflict she had with her parents, the desperate need she felt to do something shocking - to be someone unpredictable. 

As someone who so clearly loved the boundaries and routine - she doubted he could ever really identify with her need for impulsivity.

“I guess there’s only one way to find out,” she mumbled to herself, connecting her earbuds to the phone tucked into her armband, turning her shoulder to call Killian’s cell number as she grabbed her keys and headed out the door. 

\-------------------------------------------------------

“Hello?” He’d put Emma’s number into his phone long ago, but the question was more out of surprise that she was calling than confusion about who was on the line. 

“Father Jones?” She found herself a little breathless, and not because she’d already broken into a light jog. 

“I told you, lass, it’s Killian.” A grin bloomed at the sound of her voice. 

“Alright, Killian.” The name felt foreign on her tongue. It seemed disrespectful to call him by his given name. Then again, the was probably the least disrespectful thing she’d done…

His heart stuttered in his chest at the sound of his name on her lips. He could get used to that. 

“Not that I’m complaining, but what’s on your mind, love? You called me...”

“Right. I, uh,” she unconsciously changed her pace - nervousness fueling her fast strides. “I was hoping you had time for a coffee sometime today - or something like that.” 

He desperately wanted to shout YES, but before he could - he realized that it would look quite suspicious, the town priest sharing coffee with the sheriff’s daughter. 

“Are you OK? You sound out of breath.” He was stalling, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t curious about what was causing her to pant like that. It made him think of things he really shouldn’t. 

“Out for a run,” she replied curtly. 

“Oh. I was actually going to do that myself,” he had been in the process of tying his shoes when she called.

“I didn’t know you were a runner.” Not that she was surprised - I mean, he obviously did something to stay in such fantastic shape. She bit her lip thinking of the way his taught muscles felt against her soft skin. 

“There’s a lot you don’t know about me, lass.” 

“That’s why I wanted to get coffee,” she replied cooly. 

“Fair enough. It’s not that I don’t want to, but I think being out in public like that, just the two of us would be unwise. Wouldn’t want folks to get the wrong impression,” he answered. 

“Have any other ideas then?” She slowed her pace a little again as she rounded the corner to the park. 

“Well, I could use some help preparing for the youth event tomorrow night. Lucy’s mother is still in poor shape, so the task has fallen to me. Simple stuff, really - cleaning up the rec room, inflating some basketballs. You could count it as part of your community service quota.” He realized he likely didn’t need to work so hard to convince her, but truthfully he was pitching the idea to himself. 

“Sold, Jones. What time?”

“Give me an hour and a half to run and shower, but any time after that.” 

“See you soon.”

\---------------------------------

His day was looking considerably better already - and he ran much faster than he had in a long time, likely due to the jitters he had knowing she wanted to spend time with him. 

He got back to the apartment and showered quickly, dressing for the day in his standard black and clerical collar. 

When he walked up to the church she was sitting on the steps, hair still damp from her own recent shower, just starting to bend into the graceful waves he’d come to adore. His smile fell into the goofy lopsided grin she was starting to enjoy. 

“Father,” she nodded politely. 

“Miss Nolan, thank you again for volunteering,” he almost laughed at how stilted it felt to speak with her that way, but he supposed it was for the best until they got inside. It’s always possible someone walking by could overhear. 

That was one thing he liked about his small-town set up - unless it was Sunday morning, the church was pretty much deserted. Lots of time to himself. Or lately -- time with her. 

He led the way to the same room where they’d held the AA meeting and pulled out a mesh bag of basketballs, each a little flatter than the next. Clearly they didn’t get much use. 

“I’m glad you called.” He was the one to break their silence. “But I can’t imagine what else you’d want to know about me. You practically heard my whole life story the other day.”   
He kept his eyes trained on the task at hand. 

“I suppose that’s kind of true, isn’t it.” She chuckled a little, realizing he was right. 

“I may hate myself later for asking this, but…” he brought his eyes up from the basketball he was inflating with the hand pump, “Why me?” 

Her heart physically hurt for the broken way he looked at her - she could see all of his self-loathing and genuine confusion in his pale blue eyes, and it brought out a side of her she didn’t know existed - a longing to be tender and soothing.

“That’s a complicated question,” she sighed. 

“My schedule’s pretty clear…” he quirked a brow as he said it - and he looked like the man she wanted to get to know. The man without the collar.

“At first I think it was because of my parents,” she started, noticing the quizzical look he gave her. “They’re Mr. & Mrs. Charming, and it has always driven me crazy. They never seemed… real. You know? They were just so nauseatingly perfect all the time.” 

He said nothing, curious to see where she was going with this, and grateful to catch a glimpse of what made her tick. 

“I know it sounds dumb. But I always felt like I didn’t belong. I’ve always had a rebellious streak a mile wide, and they’re just so - normal. I wanted to see them crack. I wanted to see the flaws.” She tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear as she spoke. 

“So I started acting out. Telling people that my dad was a mean drunk, that mom liked pills. I started hanging around the wrong crowd. I was dating -” a lump formed in her throat at his name, finding herself suddenly unable (unwilling) to talk about that now - “someone who wasn’t good for me,” she finished diplomatically. 

“And this is what led to your community service, I take it?” His voice was low, and there was an edge to it that she couldn’t quite identify. When she glanced to good hand and noticed his knuckles were white, her cheeks flushed pink. 

He was upset about how Neal hurt her, and he didn’t even know what happened. 

“Yeah,” she huffed. “All that to say, I’ve always been fitful. Life can be so utterly predictable here, and I just wanted to be - contrary - I guess. Anyway, I didn’t have a thing for priests until I met you. And I liked the idea of … corrupting something. God that sounds awful,” she fidgeted uncomfortably in her metal folding chair. 

“I get that.” He answered solemnly, noting her look of bewilderment. “Does that surprise you?”

“Well, yeah. I mean, you’re a priest…” 

He chuckled at how she bumbled in the wake of his unexpected response. 

“You of all people should know that I wasn’t always a priest. There are other sides to me, love. Every so often in seminary there were people who were so cloyingly compassionate I could barely keep myself from hauling off and slugging them right in the jaw. I actually felt that urge.”

Her eyes widened at his confession as she realized they might not be as different as she thought. 

“Well, that’s not how I see you. When I met you, I saw you as this shining example of morality.”

Her words stung. That’s how he was supposed to be. He was supposed to be a leader with moral authority. Not this. He felt his stomach drop at the reality of his wretched failure - and before he could say anything she reached her hand out to gently cover his. 

“You know I dreamt about you that night,” she said quietly - almost as if she was embarrassed to say it out loud. “Actually, that’s what started all of this. I had this crazy dreams that night, one after the other. They were - well, they were really hot,” her voice was a little breathier than normal, scenes from her vivid fantasies flashing in her mind’s eye. 

She noticed the way he stiffened slightly at her confession. 

“I made a list. Of all the things we did in my dreams - I wanted to see if you were as good in real life as you were in my fantasies,” he was blushing so much he felt like he’d burn up. The thought of her writhing and moaning in her sleep - imagining him - it was too much. 

She shifted in her seat to pull the list from her back pocket - the edges tinged blue from being in her dark-washed jeans - holding it out for him. 

He took it from her, unfolding it slowly. 

“I didn’t expect it to go anywhere. Honestly, I expected you to be like every other guy I’ve ever been with - a disappointment, a letdown, a jerk. But there’s something so - sincere about you. Not to mention, you were every bit as hot in real life as you were in my dreams that night.”

He felt a rush of pride settle squarely in his chest at her words. He’d only ever been a disappointment and a letdown to everyone in his life - and here she was, this amazing woman, telling him he wasn’t. 

He kept his eyes focused on the list - a gentle smile curving up his lips at her sloppy handwriting.   
Dirty Talk - Confessional  
Sexting in Service  
From behind at the pulpit  
Oral by the communion station  
In the pews - any way  
On top in the confessional

She suddenly feels a little self-conscious the way he’s studying that list - his posture straight and stiff. Maybe she shouldn’t have given it to him. Things are complicated enough as it is. She’d just meant it as an explanation of her behavior - a way to say “this is what started it, but I feel like it could be more.”

But she couldn’t bring herself to actually say that last bit - and now she’s worried he’s taken it the wrong way. 

“Well…” he finally relaxed his shoulders and sighed. “It looks to me like there are still several items left unresolved here,” his thumb tracing down the edge of the letters. 

“I don’t know exactly what this is, but whatever we become is up to you. And if you’re willing - I think you’ll find I’m more than able to meet your -- uhm -- expectations,” he tossed her a downright wicked smile. 

She shuddered at the abrupt change in his demeanor. “Shouldn’t we… talk about this, or something? I mean, we can’t just keep --” 

“Too right, lass,” he cut her off quickly. “But we don’t need to figure it all out today,” he reached his hand up to cup the side of her face gently. 

He had come up with an idea of how to handle their situation, but it was drastic, and he wanted to give them a little bit of time to settle things on their own - test the waters - before he did something so permanent. 

Truthfully, he wanted to give her some time to decide she wanted to bail. For his part, he knew exactly what he felt about her, and that he’d do anything (give anything) to be with her. Now he just needed to know if she felt the same. 

And in the interim - well, they might as well have some fun finishing up that list.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After Emma showed Killian her list - he's inspired to help her complete another few items from her fantasies. 
> 
> Pretty much pure smut. All of the smut that you wanted last chapter? It's all here.

The way he’s looking at her is downright wicked. They still have a lot of work to do to get everything ready for the youth event, but she’s fairly certain none of that is going to happen now - and she warred with herself to try and fight it.

As he slides to the edge of his chair and leans in toward her she swears the air around them sparks with electricity the closer he gets to her. 

“Pick one,” he’s practically whispering and his voice is rough and low - almost desperate. 

“We shouldn’t…” she starts. After all of their attempts to be realistic about this, to be honest about how futile and hopeless it is to start something, why do this to themselves? But she’s fighting a losing battle, and deep down she knows it. 

“No, we shouldn’t. It’s wrong, and it’s sinful” the way the words roll from his talented tongue has her squirming in her seat - a rush of arousal settling low in her belly despite her attempts to fight it. 

“And yet…” he continues, dragging his fingers slowly along the curve of her arm, “you’re the one who gave me that bloody list. So pick one.”

Her eyebrows shot up in surprise at his strong words (well, that was unexpected), but then again - he was surprising her a lot lately - and she found her eyes darting down to his lips for just a moment before leaning in and kissing him fiercely. 

His good hand quickly found it’s way up to the back of her neck as he drowned in the feeling of her tongue tangling with his. She tasted like cinnamon and vanilla - and he never wanted to taste anything else. 

She tilted her head slightly to the side to grant him better access and he sighed into her, slowing their pace and pouring every ounce of passion and tenderness he could into their kiss. 

He felt incredible - her hands slid across his muscular shoulders, down his back, around to his chest - everywhere. She wanted to feel more of him - she needed to feel more of him. She pressed her palms flat against his chest and pushed lightly to break their kiss. 

She wasn’t prepared for the utterly wrecked look in his eyes, a daze of passion, lust and wonderment.

“I’ve made up my mind,” she said with a tone of finality, setting her shoulders squarely as she stood. 

His stomach dropped. This is the part where she says she’s changed her mind, you bloody fool. 

“The confessional - again,” she turns toward the door and tosses a seductive smile over her shoulder at him while he stares blankly - dumbfounded. 

“Coming, Father?” She smirks at the use of his title again - and though he knows it’s part of the game, he can’t wait to make her scream his real name over and over.

\-----------

He’s grateful that in the fog of his arousal he still remembers to double check that all the doors are locked before heading over to the confessional. He wasn’t entirely sure if she meant that she wanted a repeat performance of the dirty talking they’d already done, or if she was feeling a little more hands on, but he hoped it was the latter. 

His question was answered when he turned the corner to find her on his side of the booth - clothes discarded in a disheveled heap by the door. 

His jaw went slack at the sight. She was either an angel sent to make him see God or a demon sent kill him with sex - and to be honest, he didn’t care which one. 

She noticed the moment he saw her, he stopped dead in his tracks - the only movement was his eyes roving her deliciously naked form and the twitch in the tent of his pants as his body reacted to her. 

She curled her finger in a come-hither motion and he practically felt her physically pulling him closer - though she wasn’t touching him.

“Bless me Father, for I have sinned,” she whispered in his ear when she was close enough. “And I plan to sin some more.”

He was too far gone to respond as she turned him in the booth and pushed on his shoulders to sit him on the wooden bench, standing between his legs. 

“Looks like you’re overdressed,” she teases breathlessly while tugging at his belt buckle. He tilts his hips into her hands, making her task easier. 

With his pants undone she slides her hand down into his tight black briefs (he wore boxers before, didn’t he? Whatever, these are hot), and he bites back a moan when she strokes his velvety length. 

He unconsciously starts rolling his hips to meet her, and she takes advantage of the motion to pull his pants completely free. When she looks back up he’s removed his collar and she sees him using his good hand to unbutton his shirt. 

Her immediate reaction is to help him (it can’t be easy one-handed), but she quickly sees that he’s clearly grown accustomed to doing this on his own as he deftly removes the final piece of clothing separating them. 

But there’s still the prosthetic. Last time she was… well, distracted enough not to notice. 

He caught her eye drifting to his hand and his heart sank. He’d never before wished so badly to be whole again. 

“Should I… uhm. Would you like me to leave it on?” He said shyly, eyes intentionally diverted. 

“It’s more comfortable with it off, isn’t it?” She touched the side of his face reassuringly - but didn’t try to pull his chin up to look at her - she knew that would be too much for him right now. 

“Aye. That it is, but I understand if-”

She cut him off with a kiss and settled herself on his lap as a way of telling him it was OK. He finally looked up at her and didn’t break eye contact while he removed the prosthetic. Finally feeling truly bare to her - and surprisingly comfortable with it. 

A verse flashed to his mind. Genesis 2:25: Now the man and his wife were both naked, but they felt no shame.

The thought was chased away by the feeling of her hips moving rhythmically on his lap - her arms around his neck and her head tilted back, the elegant column of her throat in perfect view. 

God, but she was a vision - all grace and seduction. He pressed kisses everywhere he could, the soft skin of her breasts, the taught peaks of her nipples, her collarbone, neck. 

He couldn’t stand it anymore, he wanted to feel just how turned on she was. He palmed her breast roughly, eliciting a mewl of pleasure before dipping his hand down to her core. 

“God, so wet for me,” he breathed. “I love feeling what I do to you. Can’t believe this is for me.”

He continued to rub his thumb along her folds as she bucked her hips lightly in search of more pressure. She caught his chuckle at her insistence just before he slowly delved a long finger into her. 

“Oh, God - yes!” She cried out at the sensation as he brought his thumb to her sensitive bundle of nerves, but it wasn’t quite what she wanted. She leaned back a little to look him in the eye.

“I want you,” she pleaded - and he nearly lost it right there. This incredible woman was begging for him - and it made him feel amazing in all the right ways. 

“As much as I’d love to, I… uhm,” he bashfully scratched behind his ear - a nervous tick she’d grown quite fond of.

“Out with it, Jones."

“Protection? I’m a Catholic priest, love - this isn’t exactly something I’m prepared for,” he was kneading her lower back with his good hand now, the motion easing the tension in muscles she didn’t know were tight. 

“Don’t worry about it - I’ve got that covered,” she said matter of factly. 

She slid her fingers down to his member and pumped it a few times while he cursed under his breath. 

“Now where were we?” she mused. “Right about…” she picked herself up enough to put her hand between them and line him up. “Here.” 

He shuddered at the feeling of her perched there, his bare tip nudging at her soaked entrance, staying deadly still as she slowly dropped herself onto him - her walls dragging along his cock in the most incredible way. 

She only stopped when he was buried in her to the hilt. She knew he was big - she’d had him in her mouth after all, but this was different. She felt every inch of him, and it only took a moment to adjust to his size. 

He was mesmerized by her, so wet and warm around him. He’d never been with a woman without a latex barrier between them - and this was so different. He could feel everything. And he desperately wanted to feel more. 

“Oh, Killian, more” she pleaded. 

That was all the encouragement he needed, and as he thrust his hips upward he relished the way her jaw dropped in ecstasy. 

He set a quick pace - knowing the feeling of her wrapped tightly around him, breasts bouncing every time he pounded into her, was going to send him over the edge much more quickly than he’d like. 

But he was nothing if not persistent, and he worked diligently to find the spot within her that would make her see the same stars he saw every time he looked at her. 

With a tilt of his hips and his hand gripping her hip to pull her into him even tighter she cried out, and he knew he’d found it. 

“Killian! Oh, God, Killian!” 

He grinned wolfishly at the ragged way she said his name - continuing to drive relentlessly into her as she climbed higher and higher. 

"That's it, love," he panted, eager to watch her crash over the golden edge. Eager for it to be the feeling of him inside her that brings he the utmost pleasure. 

“Let go for me,” he crooned as she circled her hips on him, breath catching as she rode him harder - her mouth falling into a silent cry as her bliss finally crashed over her in heady waves, powerful bursts one after the other. 

“Fuck, Emma” his movements were uncontrolled now, wanting nothing more than to stay in the this moment forever.

But the friction on his cock as she tensed around him was too much.

“God, Emma - I’m gonna- oh, God!” 

He choked out her name as he drove into her wildly, hips stuttering as he pulsed his release deeply within her. 

She kept her eyes trained on him - watching every exquisite moment of his euphoria. She’d never seen anything so enthralling, so alluring. That’s when she knew, this was going to be different. She wanted this (them) to be different. 

“Hey.” He all but purred. “You OK?” 

“Yeah. For the first time in a long time, I think I am.”


	10. Chapter 10

He happily stayed up late that night to finish preparing for the youth event - and he hardly noticed that he was smiling like an idiot the entire time. 

In fact, for the next week he couldn’t help but feel like the entire world was just a bit brighter, his coffee was a little sweeter, his sermons came to him easier, even Lucy’s mother seemed to be doing well. 

“It’s like she’s a different person. And they haven’t changed her medication or anything. The doctors can’t explain it,” Lucy beamed.

He clasped her shoulder tenderly in support, “I am absolutely thrilled for you. It is indeed a fantastic development.”

He continued working through a few more items in his inbox before she spoke again, a little more seriously this time.

“It’s a miracle, Father Jones. I believe it with all my heart and soul,” her face showed all the faith and optimism he’d struggled to possess most of his life. “Don’t you think it’s a miracle?”

He cringed inwardly at the question. He knew the priestly answer is that, yes - the bible tells us there are miracles. Jesus performed many miracles, and God continues to work in miraculous ways in our lives today.

But, he also knew that a good priest wouldn’t lie - and saying that he believes it is a miracle would be a lie. He believes that modern medicine is a miracle -- that the hard work and dedication of her doctors is what has made the difference. That sometimes good things just happen. 

“Father?” She asked again. 

“So sorry. It’s a wondrous thing, and I’m sure God’s plan is at work,” he responded diplomatically - noticing Lucy seemed a little deflated at his sidestep. “Actually, Lucy, I’m going to step out for a minute if that’s OK. I’ve got my cell if you need anything.”

The cool breeze helped him clear the awkward encounter from his mind - but it brought up another matter that’d been a splinter in his brain. 

Emma. 

They hadn’t really interacted much since that night. She texted him to say hello, and she came to the AA meeting for setup and cleanup. In fact, she even stayed for the meeting again - sitting silently in the back and listening to the struggles of the few who came for support. 

He found himself somehow stronger knowing she was around. He knew he should still be wracked with the guilt of his sinful thoughts and actions - but with each passing day and each simple smile she tossed his way, he was all the more confident there was only one thing left for him to do.   
_______________________________________________________

She had to admit - she really did like him for more than just his looks (and the absolutely incredible sex). He was gentle with her. He was kind, empathetic, caring, insightful and there was a hint at his troubled past and inner-demons that made him relatable in a way she never would have expected. 

Over the next week she texted him little hellos and silly flirty emoticons, a sharp contrast to the downright lewd pictures she’d sent what felt like forever ago. It was kind of strange (and very distinctly her) to have gone about things backward - started so… brazenly, and lead to giggling over flirtatious texts like a teenager.

That man had a way with words. In fact, it’s one thing she noticed about him right away - when he got the chance to come up with his own material, he was mesmerizing. It’s not that he used large or complicated words, but he was incredibly precise with each selection, and sometimes the most appropriate choice was a phrase that hadn’t been in vogue since the 1800s.

Nonetheless, it all added up to something so unique, so unlike anything or anyone she’d ever come across. He was different, and she desperately wanted to know why. 

Her phone started buzzing in her back pocket and she grinned at seeing his name light up her screen. 

“Well hello, Father Jones. What can I do for you?” She said sweetly as she fished for her keys to lock up her apartment. 

“Good morning, Miss Nolan,” his eyes darted across the church courtyard to check for any passersby who might overhear him. “I miss you.”

Her heart leapt at his sincerity. 

“Is that right, Father?” She responded coyly. 

“Aye. What you are doing right now?” His voice dropped a little, and she sensed he actually had a reason for calling. 

“I was just headed out to run a few errands. Why? What’s wrong?” 

“Is it that obvious?” He chuckled a little bit at her keen observation.   
“Well, I can run the errands after work instead. Where are you?”  
_______________________________________________________________

He sat nervously at the docks waiting for her to arrive. The more he thought about it, the more he wasn’t quite sure this was the right moment. Maybe they needed to spend a little more time together - get to know each other better. 

His eyes were trained on the gentle waves of the water, trying (failing) to match his frantic thoughts to their steady and constant rhythm. 

She thought he looked every bit the definition of a brooding man - shoulders pulled inward, brow furrowed in worried reflections, eyes unfocused as he got lost in the channels of his mind. 

“Hey you,” she said gently, sliding next to him on the wooden bench. 

“Hey yourself, lass,” he perked up a little as he turned to face her. 

“Where were you just now?” She double checked they were alone before slipping her hand atop his. 

“Just floating around.” He said simply. 

“Anywhere interesting?”

“Aye. You.” He eyed her warily. “Us.”

Her heart dropped into her stomach suddenly. 

If he’s so sullen, and he’s thinking about us…

“What about us, Killian?” she pushed, trying to keep the panic she felt from creeping into her words. 

“I want there to be an us,” he was almost whispering - as if his trepidation would somehow be allayed if he said it quietly. “Is that -” he cleared his throat roughly. “Is that something you would like?”

Her throat was suddenly incredibly dry as she searched his face for the war of emotions going on beneath the surface. 

Of course she wanted that - but… how? She liked spending time with him and she wanted to get to know him better. But they couldn’t exactly go on dates. 

“I’d like that,” she finally nodded. “I just… don’t know how. It’s not like we can go out to dinner at Granny’s.”

He immediately seemed more at ease and laughed at her comment about the favorite local diner. 

“No, I suppose not, love. But, I’ve got a few ideas nonetheless,” he smiled broadly. He had the kind of smile that she couldn’t see without reciprocating. It tugged at her heart in ways she couldn’t understand. 

“OK. I’m game, but I’m working late tonight,” she said, her thumb rubbing the soft skin on the top of his hand absentmindedly. 

“Tomorrow at 8,” he said confidently - sweet smile replaced with a devilishly handsome smirk. “Meet me here.” 

________________________________________________

Her workday seemed to drag on and on - probably because she spent half of it staring at the clock in the corner of her computer screen - but when quitting time finally hit, she bolted out the door and was home in record time. 

She had no idea what Killian had planned for them, but as she mentioned the other day, it’s not like they could be out and about in public - so she figured that whatever the plan, it’s likely they’ll be alone. 

The thought of being alone again with him made her skin flush a rosy pink (when would that stop happening?), as she thumbed through the contents of her closet. Realizing the task was nearly impossible with no clue what they were doing, she decided to shoot him a quick text.

Does it matter what I wear, Jones?

He smiled as his eyes swept over her words on his screen. 

You can wear [or not wear] whatever you like. It’ll just be you and me, love.

She huffed a chuckle at her phone, turning back to her closet while she typed.

I can’t very well wait for you at the docks naked, can I? Especially with my father being the Sheriff…

That thought unsettled him more than she likely intended it to, but he realized it wasn’t very gentlemanly of him to give her no direction at all.

Fair enough, lass. Consider it a proper date. (Well, an almost proper date anyway). 

With that, she had just the thing. It was a little number Ruby helped her pick out years ago - but it still fit her like a glove. It was the perfect combination of feminine and tough, just like her, and as she slipped into it, she knew it was the right choice. 

Before long it was time to set out for the docks - she wanted to walk, that way her car wasn’t just sitting out on the streets, opening her to prying questions later. The crisp air did little to calm her nerves about the evening, but all the same she soon found herself approaching the docs - Killian having already planted himself on that same bench. 

He heard her long before he turned around - using the extra minute to take a few deep breaths and try to settle the jitters that had suddenly taken hold of him. 

Get a grip, mate. It’s just a date. And you’ve already… well… You know…

“Killian?” She came around the corner and her eyes immediately fell to a gorgeous long-stemmed red rose lying on the bench next to him. 

He wasn’t kidding about it being a no-shit for real, date. 

“Emma -” upon seeing her his jaw went slack. She was a true vision - her hair tucked up into a high ponytail (curling gently at the tip), her slender frame and soft curves wrapped tightly into a black leather dress that made his mouth water in an almost animalistic way.

“God, Emma, you’re bloody gorgeous,” he finally stammered - his eyes still roaming every inch of her in unabashed appreciation. 

He wasn’t even aware that he’d stood up, but she was equally impressed with his choice of date-night attire - a pair of dark-washed jeans, gray button down shirt with several buttons undone (exposing a delicious patch of chest hair), a tight black vest that hugged his trim waistline just right, and… was that… eyeliner? 

She really couldn’t judge -- it looked downright hot on him, and the smirk he was giving her seemed to indicate he knew just how good he looked. 

“See something you like, love?” He purred into her ear as he handed her the rose and gestured with his prosthetic toward the street. 

“Perhaps.” She tried to answer coyly, but she knew he could see right through her. “So, what’s the plan?”

“You’ll see. Are you OK to walk a few blocks in those?” He nodded down to her heels. “I should’ve been more thoughtful and brought the car, but I prefer not to drive if I can avoid it.”

“Oh, yeah, that should be fine,” she responded, daring to snake her arm in his while they walked. “But, out of curiosity, why don’t you like driving? I find it to be rather freeing.”

“That’s a story for another time, lass,” he said dismissively. “I’d much rather talk about how absolutely stunning you look.”

She blushed at his compliment, and allowed him to change the subject - filing away that mystery for another day. 

When they reached the door he fished his keys from his pocket and bowed dramatically after as he pushed the door open, “Welcome to Chez Jones - after you, milady.”

She giggled at his theatrics before stepping over the threshold. 

The space was simple and neat - only as much furniture as absolutely necessary. A low-profile modern black couch and a rustic wooden coffee table, a TV tray leaning against the nearby wall, a tall bookshelf packed with hardback novels. No pictures. Like, at all. Curious.

“Make yourself at home, dinner will be served in 15 minutes,” he called to her as he ducked his head into the opening of an apron. 

“Really? An apron?” She quirked an eyebrow at him teasingly, but she had to admit, even that looked good on him.

He muttered something about not wanting to “ruin his outfit,” but she couldn’t hear it since he was up to his shoulders in the fridge, pulling out bits and pieces to the meal. 

She stood at the edge of the kitchen, chatting happily while he worked - and before long he was pulling out a red checkerboard picnic blanket and tossing it onto the floor with a few couch cushions. 

“Sorry for the lack of propriety, but - as you can see - I don’t do much entertaining. So we’re stuck with picnic style,” he gestured down to the blanket and pillows and let her get comfortable while he lit a few candles and poured some wine. 

As it turns out, he’s a pretty good cook. Apparently he’d made pasta from scratch (she had no idea how that would even work), and the sauce was made with tomatoes from Mrs. Green’s garden and herbs from his own modest window-box garden. 

When they were finished she insisted on putting the dishes in the sink, since he’d been kind enough to cook - and he agreed, using the moment to put the couch cushions back and throw the blanket into the hamper. 

“So, what now, Jones?” She stepped out back into the living room to find him turning on the TV. 

“I thought we could pick something on Netflix and just enjoy each others’ company,” he gestured to the couch. 

She doubled over in genuine laughter, and when she finally pulled back up (cheeks stinging with tension) she noticed he didn’t understand what was so funny. 

“Did you really just ask me to ‘Netflix and chill’?” She searched his face, but it quickly became clear that it wasn’t an intentional reference. 

“I suppose…” he said cautiously, “But, I really don’t understand why that’s funny…” 

“Right, priest,” she continued chuckling as she led him to sit next to her on the couch. 

“It’s a euphemism people use these days,” she explained, letting her hand stay on his arm. “When people say ‘Netflix and chill’ it means they’re having sex.” 

His eyes widened at her explanation, a gentle blush blooming on his cheeks. 

“Oh. Well, that’s not exactly what I meant…” he bumbled. 

“I dunno, Jones,” she crooned, trailing her hand up his arm and to his jawline before dragging her fingers down to trace the v of his open neckline. “It doesn’t sound so bad to me…”

He sucked in a harsh breath at her suggestion, immediately hard as a rock, and countered with a breathy, “we’d better pick something we’ve both seen before, then.”

They ended up on a documentary of some kind (that neither of them had seen) after deciding it really didn’t matter what was on - and they didn’t want to waste any more time. 

She’d climbed atop his lap at some point, the material of her dress pulled up around her hips to grant her better mobility. Her arms were around his neck, kissing him so fiercely he could hardly breathe. 

She felt divine in his arms, moving wantonly to the rhythm of her desire, his pants painfully tight now. He took the initiative to grasp her tightly around the waist with his good arm and flip them so her back was the one pressed into the couch cushion. 

He stood back a moment, quickly removing his prosthetic hand while she moved forward to undo the buttons on his vest and shirt - making quick work of both. She laid back when she finished, pulling her own dress over her head before allowing her legs to fall to the side - panting up at him, ferocity and arousal in her gaze. 

He fumbled with his belt, his fingers suddenly clumsy at the sight her her on display in front of him, clad only in a delightfully skimpy black lace bra and panties. 

The vibrant colors of the screen behind him danced over her delicate skin, and he mused to himself that she looked like a stained glass window - an incredible piece of art. 

“See something you like?” She threw his earlier comment back at him while she tauntingly dipped her hand into her panties to tease her aching clit. 

“Fuck, Emma -” he licked his lips as he removed his jeans with renewed vigor - desperate to feel her against his skin. He kicked his pants to the side before descending on her, kissing her passionately, getting lost in the feeling of her soft lips on his. 

Eventually he broke away long enough to catch her eye and ask, “Bed?”

She nodded in response, her arms still around his neck as he lifted her without warning - her legs snapping around his back quickly to steady herself. He growled lowly at the feeling of her sopping wet core on his abs -- if he’d removed his briefs he might’ve slipped into her just then, and while that would have undoubtedly been an incredible feeling, he wanted to do it right this time. 

What he hadn’t explained to her is that this evening was a way for him to test the waters -- see what they would be like as a “regular” couple. He wanted to see what it felt like to make love to her, rather than just have sex. He wanted to see how she reacted - if it was something she wanted as well. 

He laid her down gently when he reached the bed, crawling over her tantalizingly slow - licking a path up her gentle curves as he went. When he reached her belly button he looked up at her through his lashes, sending another wave of arousal through her. 

“So beautiful,” he panted, continuing to work his way up her - pressing feather-light kisses everywhere he could, driving her mad with want. 

He was being so gentle, so tender, so… loving. But she was so far beyond that - she needed more friction, more pressure. She whined at him, writhing in impatience. 

“More, Killian, I need more,” she rolled her hips up into his, eliciting a moan from him. 

“Aye, you’ll get it,” he teased hotly in her ear. “Patience, love.”

She thought she’d burst into flames the way each kiss and stroke of his hand across her tight form was working her up. Eventually she couldn’t take it anymore and he reached her hand down to rub his generous length through his briefs. 

She knew at the way his eyes snapped shut in pleasure that he was just as ready as she was - so she rolled him onto his back, hooking her fingers into his waistband and urging him to lift his hips so she could pull them down. 

He obliged, watching her like a hawk - not wanting to miss a single moment as she reached behind her and unhooked her bra, tossing it aside before slipping out of her panties as well.

She was nothing short of miraculous, and as she lowered herself over him, he cupped the back of her head, bringing her lips to his and kissing her languidly. 

When he couldn’t take it anymore he rolled them over, his body pressing hers into the soft mattress, his hard length pushing into her leg, reminding her of the incredible ache between her thighs. 

He brought his hand down to her core, dragging his fingers along her bundle of nerves, making her jump at the contact she’d been so desperate for. She groaned loudly in appreciation. 

“Holy hell,” he choked out. “God, you’re soaked.”

He sank two long fingers into her, relishing in the way her back arched off the bed each time he curled his fingers up to stroke at the spot that had her vision blurring, the coil of her orgasm building low in her stomach as he brought her higher and higher with the motion. 

But as much as she loved the attention, she longed to feel his warmth velvety length inside her, and she pleaded with him to give her what she wanted. 

“As you wish,” he replied, bracing himself with his bad arm as he brought the thick head of his cock to her entrance, pulling it through her folds to coat the tip in her arousal before sliding into her at an agonizingly slow pace. 

He closed his eyes in concentration, the feel of her warm and wet around him making him dizzy. 

Once he was fully seated in her, he stilled a moment, taking in her sated expression, before slowly moving himself almost completely out of her, and plunging back in just as slowly. He set a leisurely pace, determined to revel in every single glorious second. 

Each drag of his cock along her slippery walls was a praise to her beauty, her wit, her tenacity. Every long thrust of his hips was an ode to her perfection, and every movement sent him closer to the truth he’d known longer than he cared to admit.

When her hips started rising to meet each of his thrusts, sending him that extra bit deeper into her, he lost all control. 

His pace quickened with a greedy desire to mark her as his - to make her know exactly how he felt about her, and that enthusiasm seemed to have her spiraling closer to her own release. She was writhing and rolling her hips in this amazing way, and watching her chase her orgasm turned him on like nothing else ever could. 

“That’s it, Emma,” he groaned as she rolled him over, riding him harshly - her perky breasts bouncing with the movement. 

His encouragement only made her wetter somehow, and she wanted to come so badly she bucked into him wildly as she neared that golden-tipped edge 

“Oh, God -” she screwed her eyes shut as her pleasure finally burst over her in hot waves, the intensity of her inner walls gripping him sending him over the edge as well. 

Her eyes sprung open at the sharp yelp that accompanied his orgasm - their gazes locked as his hips fell out of rhythm as he pulsed deeply within her. 

She laid herself down onto his chest, keeping them connected as she listened to his heartbeat settle back into its regular cadence. She shivered a little as her body cooled down, and he slipped out of her gently to pull a blanket over them. 

She’d never been much of a snuggler, but when he laid on his back, she found herself with her head on his chest, his arm wrapped around her tightly. 

“This is nice,” she admitted softly. 

“Mmhm.” He responded, toying with a soft curl while he contemplated the conversation he wanted to have. 

“Emma,” he started, his tone serious. “Can I be honest with you?” 

She turned a little so she could look up at him, and she could feel his heart racing beneath her hand.

“I don’t like the way that sounds, but yes.” 

“I think…” He brought his hand up to scratch absentmindedly behind his ear, willing himself to continue. “I think I’m falling in love with you.”

I couldn’t have heard that right. Did he just say… no. We barely know each other. You misheard that. 

She pulled away, eyes staring into the distance as she moved to the edge of the bed - and the loss had him shivering as if he was in the middle of a snow drift in his underwear. 

“Emma?”

Her silence made his heart drop into his stomach. 

That’s it. You’ve ruined it. Git. You’ve said it too soon. That was too honest. Too much, Killian. God damn bloody fool. 

“I’m sorry, what?” She finally responded, sounding completely dumbfounded. 

“I shouldn’t have said it. It’s nothing.” He was building his walls back up. All of his self-hatred flaring to the service, his mind screaming all the reasons she could never love him. 

She immediately knew that she had reacted poorly. If she were being honest with herself, she would say that she feels like she’s on that same track herself - but that scared the hell out of her. 

All the same, she hated that broken look in his eyes. He had the look of a man who had laid it all on the line, and gotten kicked in the teeth for it. She saw all of his past hurts written on his face. She saw him curl in on himself, making himself physically smaller - as if he could disappear from his own home just by wishing it hard enough. 

A year ago, she would’ve run. She would have freaked out about this stranger being overly attached - a perv, a weirdo-stalker asshole. But, for reasons she refused to acknowledge, she couldn’t let him hurt like this. 

She couldn’t admit the truth, but she couldn’t watch him suffer either. 

She crawled back up to him, and hated the way he flinched when she cupped his jaw to turn his head to face her. 

“Hey,” she said softly. “I’m sorry. I’m flattered, and I really do like you, I just… I can’t say it back right now. OK?”

His jaw was set so hard it was starting to hurt, and she noticed the flexing of his muscle as he tried to maintain his composure - to keep his demons in check. 

“What does that mean? For us,” he clarified - voice thick with emotion. “Do you even want there to be an us?” 

“Can we just… not put a label on it for now?” She offered. “I do want to get to know you better, and I really did have fun tonight.”

His eyebrow quirked up at that, and she jumped to explain, “even before the Netflixing.”

He started to calm down a little, the antagonistic voices in his head quieting just enough to allow him to think clearly for a few moments. Of course she was overwhelmed. He needed to take his time. Show her that he really cared for her. 

“Aye, so did I.” He responded. “And I didn’t mean to overwhelm you. It was self-centered of me to make such a comment with all of this being so… new.” 

“It’s OK, Killian. Really. Just, be patient,” she smiled sweetly - and he felt in that moment that he could wait an eternity for her. 

“We’ve all the time in the world, lass.” He reassured her, and hoped she wouldn’t run away - and when she settled back into her place on his chest, he was certain he could die of happiness, even if she never felt the same way about him.


	11. Chapter 11

She’d been attending church regularly with her parents (who were absolutely thrilled, by the way), and she was halfway done with her community service. 

It hadn’t taken long for Mary Margaret to find out that Emma’s sudden interest in the church had been spurred by her requirement to do community service - but luckily she didn’t suspect anything beyond that. 

Actually, Emma found it comforting that her folks knew about her work around the church - it gave her a plausible excuse for being on such good terms with Father Jones. They’d even had him over to dinner one Sunday, and she had to admit there was a warm feeling that rushed over her in seeing her father joke around with him easily. 

They’d settled into a comfortable rhythm, Killian working daily to keep the depth of his feelings for her in check as she grew accustomed to her own attachment to him. 

Every once in awhile they would sneak a date - much like the first - a cozy dinner in his home, maybe a game (he was surprisingly good at Scrabble). 

“I have to admit, love, your little quirk is starting to grow on me,” he teased from the kitchen, emerging with two steaming mugs of cocoa with cinnamon. 

“I told you.” She said simply, wrapping her hands around the warm mug. 

“Aye, love. That you did,” he placed his own mug on the coffee table and cupped the back of her head lightly as he pressed a gentle kiss to her hairline. 

That’s when it all slammed into her -- how nice this was. How perfect it felt. How right they were for each other. 

As much as the rebel in her wanted to hate all of this fluffy domestic crap, she didn’t mind it so much with him - and for the first time in her life, that didn’t scare her. 

“Killian, can we talk?” Her tone was deathly serious, and she noticed the way his skin blanched at her change of pace.

“I’ve found when a woman says that I’m rarely in for a pleasant conversation.” He responded, tight-lipped. 

“No, no - it’s not… that. I just…” she bit her bottom lip nervously. “You’ve shared so much of your life with me, through the meetings. And I thought maybe it was time I shared back. I mean, if you want to hear it.”

His expression softened as soon as she finished, and he picked up his mug and turned to face her on the couch. 

“Of course I want to hear it, darling. I’d love to know more about your beginnings.”

She slowly worked her way through her rough relationship with her parents - feeling out of place as the continuously melancholy flip side to their unfailingly sunny dispositions. 

He listened intently when she tried to describe how restless she was as a teenager, how desperate she was to be something memorable in such a predictably suburban environs, how she felt fidgety all the time - like everything was on mute around her and she needed to turn the volume up to feel anything at all. 

That, inevitably, led to her relationship with Neal. She thought that being with someone who was so reckless, someone who lived with such wild abandon would sate her fervor for adventure and thrills. 

As it turns out, he didn’t. Being brash didn’t make her feel any better -- it didn’t make her feel more alive, more worthwhile, more interesting. 

And even with their shared adamant desire to be “counter-culture” they still settled into a relatively domestic routine. He even went so far as to say they should consider giving up the “Bonnie & Clyde” act and settling down. 

It wasn’t until afterward that she realized that her version of “realism” didn’t make his betrayal any less painful. Ignoring it didn’t take the hurt away.

Killian gritted his teeth and clenched his fist so tightly that his knuckles turned white as she recounted the way Neal treated her. The way they’d decided to settle down after one last score - a quick job that would allow them to get out of the life. 

She still felt the sting of his betrayal - the way he used her to take the heat for his outstanding warrant. And while she stewed in prison, her heart hardened. She wanted to erase all feeling - all emotion.

She started to think that people who took stock in their emotions were weak - that being callous and cold was the true sign of maturity. Her worldview wasn’t jaded, it was realistic - and she took great pride in that. Until she met him. 

“I’m so sorry, love.” He reached out to her softly, running his thumb up her cheek to wipe away a tear she didn’t realize had fallen. “He’s a bloody fool, and you deserve so much better.”

“It’s OK, Killian. I’m over it.” She said with a confidence she didn’t actually feel.   
“I want you to know that you don’t have to be ‘over it’, Emma. It’s OK for you to be upset,” he said soothingly. 

She loved the way he held her then, tight enough to make her feel safe - soft enough to make her feel like it’s OK for her to be delicate. And despite the fact that all of this pain was relatively recent - it suddenly felt like it didn’t matter as much. 

“Thank you, Killian. Really. It means a lot. But…” she stuttered a little bit as she tried to pluck up her courage to be completely honest with him. “What I’m trying to say is that I’m not that upset anymore. Not since I met you.”

His heart hung heavily in his chest with the weight of her words. 

He didn’t know how to respond to her, so he just let her admission hang in the air as he held her. 

“I really didn’t think I would ever be able to trust a man again, and definitely not so soon. But, I don’t know how to explain it…” she finally continued. 

“You don’t have to explain it, love. I know what you mean. I felt the same, after Milah,” he said shakily. 

“Milah?” 

“Aye. Do you recall my trepidation with cars?” He asked quietly, and she nodded wordlessly. “It was after I got my job at the docks. Things were going relatively well. Even though we only dated for several months, I was deeply in love with her.” 

The same pain and hurt that she felt over Neal was etched into Killian’s face. She wondered how it was possible for her to know so much about him without ever hearing about her. 

“Actually, I had her name tattooed on my…” he looked down at his damaged arm - he’d stopped wearing the prosthetic when they were alone (which in and of itself was a sign of how comfortable he was around her). “Anyway, one night this man shows up at my door and pleads with me to let her leave. I couldn’t figure out what the hell he was on about, but it finally hit me that he was her husband. She was married.” 

“Oh, Killian, that’s awful,” she whispered. 

“He left. We got into a big argument. She stormed out and after wrestling with myself for a while, I decided to go find her. Despite my anger over the fact that she’d been lying to me, I still loved her - and I thought maybe if she loved me back, she’d be willing to leave him. I had to find out.”

She kept her eyes trained on his, even though he hadn’t looked up at her since he started this story. 

“I knew she’d go to our bar. But I was too late. She wrapped her car around a tree - must’ve taken the turn too fast and overcorrected. She was still alive when I got there, but… barely.” His jaw clenched tightly at the vivid memory. “I held her in my arms, and with her dying breath she said she loved me.”

She felt suddenly cold as she shared the depth of his anguish, her heart so heavy for his loss that she could hardly deny their connection anymore, even if she wanted to. He finally brought his eyes up to hers. 

“When I lost my hand, I was glad it took what remained of her, too. I thought I would never love anyone again. Not after that. But then there was you. And for the first time in a long time - I wanted that. It’s risky, to be sure, but I’m willing to take that risk if you are.”

“I think I’m finally willing to take that risk, too.” 

Her voice was so quiet and shaky, he almost didn’t hear it. Her emerald eyes were brimming with cautious hope -- a look he could get used to if she’d allow him. 

“Yeah?” he responded shyly. 

“Yeah.” 

She snuggled into his chest and before long she was lulled to sleep by the steady beating of his heart.   
_________________________________

She woke up to the smell of coffee and bacon, a sleepy smile spreading across her lips as she padded her way into the kitchen, toying with the sleeves of the oversized sweater she’d changed into when she woke up in the middle of the night. 

“Morning my love.” Killian took a break from flipping the bacon to press a kiss to her forehead and slide a steaming mug her direction. 

“Coffee and bacon? Careful now, a girl could get used to this kind of treatment,” she teased as she hopped up to sit on the counter opposite the stove. 

“I’ve been thinking about that,” he continued working the pan in front of him. “I know we talked out a lot of stuff last night, and I don’t mean to bombard you with heavy conversations, but I’ve been wanting to ask you something for a while.”

He pulled the pan from the heat, wanting to give this his undivided attention. He stepped between her knees, putting his hand lovingly on her thigh, his grey blue eyes gazing at her intensely. 

“I want to do this for real. Us, I mean.” He clarified quickly. 

“I’d say sleepovers and breakfast is pretty ‘real’, Killian.” She quipped. 

“No, love. I mean - that is to say - I can’t date, I can’t… marry.” He bit his lower lip as he gauged her reaction. 

“Because of your job, because you’re a priest. I know that. It’s not like that’s a surprise.” Her brow was knitted in confusion at his meaning. “It’s OK, Killian. I know we can’t be… official. But this is OK too.” 

“But I’d like it to be official.” 

She squirmed a little at his clarity. 

“OK, but that can’t happen. So why talk about it.” She was closing off. Shutting down. This conversation could only lead to pain - and she was just starting to open herself up. 

“Love, stop. What I’m saying is that it doesn’t have to be that way. I don’t have to be a priest.”

He’d finally said it. 

“I can’t ask you to do that. This is your life. Your faith means everything to you. I can’t take that away from you. You can’t leave the church.” She felt like she’d swallowed a million frantic butterflies, and suddenly she didn’t want him to be touching her - it was too much, too intimate. 

She hopped down from the counter and started pacing immediately. 

His heart fell to the floor as he watched her - the horrid voices in his head starting to recount to him all the ways he’d messed up, all the reasons she would never agree to any of this. 

“You’re not making me do anything. I want to. Love, please, just hear me out -” he was pleading with her. “I don’t have to leave the church. I’ve spoken to the Bishop about resigning my post here. There’s an Evangelical Free church in the next town over that’s looking for a new pastor - and they think I’d be a good fit.”

Her mind and heart were reeling.

“What does that mean, Killian? You’d still be a pastor…” 

“A pastor, love. Not a priest. Pastors can date.” Now he was smiling at her with undeniable hopefulness. 

He was going to resign?! 

She wanted to be furious with him for not talking to her about this earlier. How could he have spoken to the Bishop about all of this already? Shouldn’t he have asked her first? God, she wanted to be angry - but there was an undeniable flicker of optimism. 

“I don’t know about this, Killian.”

“Well, I’ve already done the interview - and it went quite well, I think. And truthfully, Emma, I’d been thinking about it for a while - even while I was in seminary I knew I would rather be at a church with a slightly more… modern outlook. The fact that a change in that direction would also allow me to be with you -- that’s just one factor.”

She expected to feel uncomfortable at his declaration - to want to run. But she just… didn’t. 

She felt her racing pulse start to slow just a little as he explained further. Even with her limited church experience, she knew he didn’t quite fit in such a traditional environment - I mean, the man used his smartphone to advance the slides in his sermons. 

“Wait, so, when do you hear back about the other position?”

He picked up on the way her body had relaxed a little - she was less panicked about the whole thing. Maybe not quite ready to accept all of it, but she wasn’t going to run either. 

“Today, actually.” He scratched behind his ear, his anxiety rushing back in full force. What if he’d jumped the gun telling her all of this - and then he didn’t get the job anyway? 

“Today?! How long have you been keeping this secret?!”

“I interviewed last week, love. I would’ve told you - but I just… I was nervous.” He smiled weakly, and in that moment she was overcome with a need to soothe his anxiety. She stepped up to him and slid her hands up his chest and around his neck. 

He was so relieved that he nearly cried at the contact. She didn’t run. She stayed. 

“Thank you,” he whispered into her ear, pulling her into his loving embrace. 

“For what?”

“For staying,” he said simply.  
_______________________________

She had a hard time focusing at work all day, eyeing her phone constantly to see if he’d heard back about the job. 

Around 4 p.m. she finally caved and sent him a text. 

Have you heard anything yet?

Love, even if I had, it’s not like I’d tell you via text. Important news demands a physical presence.

She rolled her eyes at her screen.

Drama queen. 

He snickered at her half-hearted insult.

Meet me at the church when you’re done. 

_____________________________________________________

She saw Lucy’s car still parked out front as she walked the steps to the church - curious if she knew about Killian’s interview. 

Pulling the heavy doors open she took a clearing breath, trying to remind herself that even if he didn’t get this particular job, they could still find a way to make it work. She tried to quiet the still small voice in her head picking at her insecurities - that if this didn’t work out it was a sign they weren’t supposed to be together. 

“He’s up in his office. He mentioned you’d be stopping by. You’re almost done with your community service, right?” Lucy said cheerily. 

She hadn’t thought about it in a while, but yes - she only had another six hours left (she’d been putting in her time much quicker than was required.)

“That’s right.” She kept her answer short, hoping to minimize the idle chit chat. 

“Well, I hope that doesn’t stop you from continuing to come see us. I think he’s grown quite fond of you, really.” Lucy smiled sweetly, her tone and expression making it clear that she still didn’t know just how fond of Emma he’d become. 

“Thanks, Lucy.” She said while she turned to climb the stairs to his office. 

She tapped her knuckles on the wood twice, not waiting for a response before twisting the knob and letting herself in, quickly turning the lock out of habit. 

“So?!” She said impatiently. 

He had a remarkably good poker face. His features gave away nothing while her stomach twisted and churned waiting for the verdict. He stood up solemnly and walked around the desk to face her. 

He was about a step away when he couldn’t hold back any longer and he beamed at her brightly, pure joy in every ounce of his being. 

She nearly leapt into his open arms with a yelp of excitement. 

“Oh my God, Killian, that’s amazing! You must be so excited!” 

“You’ve no idea, love.”

He hugged her tightly, finally feeling at home in his own life. For the first time in his life, everything felt right.


	12. Chapter 12

He had been anxious all day - feeling like he’d swallowed a cannon ball. The moment his cell phone lit up with an unfamiliar number his breath hitched and it took all the self-control he could muster not to swipe to accept the call immediately. 

Mustn’t look too desperate, Killian. Don’t let them know you’ve just been sitting here staring at the damned phone.

There was a pleasant buzzing in his ears as he heard the person on the other end of the line say the magic words he was hoping to hear. 

“We’d love to have you come aboard here, Father. We think you’re going to be a great fit for our church community.”

Of course he’d happily accepted, with the caveat that he still needed to break the news to the Bishop and make sure they had a replacement lined up for him. He didn’t want to leave the parish in a lurch, after all. 

“Not a problem, Father Jones. We’ve got a decent pool of guest speakers to pull from. Just let us know when you find out more.” 

He couldn’t stop smiling - and as soon as Emma showed up he felt like he’d burst with joy. For a while they just held each other tightly as she congratulated him, but with his solid body pressed into a perfect line along hers, it didn’t take long for her mind to wander. 

“Feel like celebrating, Father?” She said coyly as she rolled up onto her toes, pressing her hips into his gently for emphasis. 

He broke into a flirtatious smile before flicking his tongue out to wet his lips. 

“Perhaps.What’d you have in mind?” Even while he said it he reached down to grab her ass harshly - he knew exactly what she had in mind, and if he was being honest, it’s exactly what he wanted. 

“Well, since we don’t have all that much longer to fulfill my naughty priest wishlist,” she looked up at him through her lashes and he was nearly knocked back with how beautiful she was in that moment. “I was thinking maybe we’d tackle something from the list.”

He didn’t need reminding what was left - he’d had the bloody thing memorized since she said it - fueling his fantasies while he was in the shower, when he woke up in the middle of the night, sometimes while he was daydreaming at this desk.

Just thinking about it was making his blood boil as his pupils dilated from desire and his mind swirled with possibilities.  
Seeing him go from almost boyishly excited to nearly overwhelmed with arousal sent a rush of wetness straight between her thighs. 

In an instant he had pushed her up against the door and was kissing her senseless - his tongue tangling with hers as his hand slipped up to the back of her head, threading his fingers through her hair while his damaged arm settled at the gentle curve of her waist. 

He pulled back from her enough to choke out the word “Pulpit”, and her lips curved into a devious smile. 

“Lucy?” she asked as he released her enough to unlock the office door. 

“Gone.” He huffed as he practically dragged her down the stairs to the church’s main entrance. 

He took long strides between the pews and she was lightly jogging to keep up with him. His sense of urgency turned her on even more as he led her up toward the pulpit. 

There was a part of him that wanted to slow down, to make love to her the way he’d wanted to since they first met - slowly, reverently, with freedom from the guilt that had racked his consciousness since his first impure thoughts of her. 

But he’s already too far gone for her to fight it, and the thrill of being so relatively out in the open, the grand arches of the ceiling towering high above them a sharp contrast to the confines of his small apartment (which they’d fully “christened” by now), was a tantalizing option in its own right. 

As he reached the steps leading to the podium his footing faltered - Emma was so eager she hadn’t noticed until she overtook him, her grip on his hand tightening as he stayed still at the bottom step while she ascended. 

She turned back to see his face turn contemplative for a brief moment, while he bent on one knee and made the sign of the cross. She’d seen him do it many times during mass - the best she could figure, it was like a rule. 

Emma hardly had time to take in the sight before he was looking up at her with his shockingly blue eyes - his pensive expression replaced with one of unabashed adoration. 

Though she would never admit it, the vision of him on one knee, looking at her like she was moon and the stars made her weak in the knees in a silly romantic way that terrified her. 

Snap out of it, Emma. She chastised herself.

“Sorry,” he offered, following her up the steps. “Old habits - and the way I figure it, I’ve got plenty to atone for already - or I plan to anyway.”  
He didn’t give her a chance to ask any more questions, as he lunged toward her, capturing her lips in a searing kiss and pulling her tightly into his firm body - the evidence of his arousal pressing insistently against her stomach.

She gasped at the sensation, and he took the opportunity to tilt his head and deepen their already passionate kiss. Emma found herself stumbling backward a little as he continued pressing into her. He started kind of steering her with the pressure of his hips until she felt her back hit the podium. 

Her hands found their way to his belt buckle as she fumbled with the metal clasp - her hand accidentally rubbing against his straining cock caused him to hiss through gritted teeth and snap his eyes closed. 

She felt so empowered with him like this - utterly wrecked at even her most delicate (even accidental) touches. A new wave of lust swept over her and she continued to work at his pants while she leaned forward to devour his mouth yet again in hot, open-mouthed kisses. 

When she finally wrapped her fingers around his length he groaned loudly and made a face that she otherwise would’ve assumed was displaying pain - but as she stroked him languidly, she knew better. 

He was in agony. Blissful agony.

“Enough of that. Need you now” he spat out as he forcefully turned her around to face the empty pews - an imaginary audience to the x-rated show they were putting on. 

He slipped his hand up her skirt (thank God she wore this today, he thought to himself - musing that he probably would’ve died in anticipation if he’d had to undress her properly).

Trailing his fingers up her hip until he found the lace of her panties, he hooked them roughly and pulled them down and she stepped out of them dazedly. 

He slipped them into the pocket of his trousers and rolled his hips into her, reveling in the much needed friction. He unclicked his prosthetic and took a moment to set it on the small shelf in the podium before slowly sliding the blunt end of his damaged arm down the supple curve of her back while she bent forward for him. 

He growled lowly at this sight of her like this, skirt hiked up her hips, wantonly bent over the pulpit - presenting herself to him like the most incredible of dreams. He tilted his hips so that the head of his cock nudged against her soaking entrance. 

She whined at the contact, wanting so much more. He teased a little longer, nudging himself in another half-inch before pulling all the way back out. Back in a full inch, and out.  
It was the most inspiring kind of torture, and by the sounds escaping her throat she was enjoying it (and hating it) just as much as he was. It was like experiencing that glorious first push over and over again.

But before long he was fully seated within her - pushing into her welcoming heat before pulling at the way back out, and once he got there, his speed picked up. 

He thrust into her in earnest now, bringing his good hand to grip her hip tightly as he probed her deeply - bottoming out more than once and making her cry out in an incredible mixture of pain and pleasure. 

He seemed more reckless than usual - nearly frantic in his need for her as he brought her higher and higher, the feeling of him losing control because of her drove her absolutely wild. 

She started bucking her hips back into his in rhythm, and he grunted and moaned at the change in pressure, his breathing ragged and heavy. 

“Is this what you wanted?” He gritted, not slowing his pace as he brought his hand down to her sensitive bundle of nerves - wanting to hear her cry out his name like a prayer in this sanctuary. 

“God, yes” she said breathily, jumping at the sensation of him swiping her arousal over her clit and starting to rub tight circles over her. “Oh, fuck, yes!” 

He laughed darkly at her words, and teased - “Language, darling - we’re in a church after all...”

Though she couldn’t actually see his face, she knew exactly the smug and coy expression he was wearing - she could hear it in the lilt of his voice. 

She resolved to make him pay for that - snaking a hand down between their legs to cup his balls as he rocked into her. 

“Fucking hell!” he shouted at the intensity of the feeling, and her lips curved into a wicked smile.

“Language, Father,” she retorted, before pulling her hand back up to brace herself on the podium again. 

He pulled his hand from her clit and grabbed her wrist (almost too strongly), and pushed it back between their legs. 

“Don’t you dare stop,” he growled in her ear - sending yet another rush of arousal coursing through her veins. 

She cupped him again, starting to gently massage in the same rhythm of his hips, his thrusts slowly picking up the pace again until the only sounds were of her whimpers, his groans, and the steady slap of skin. 

All too soon she found herself right at the edge of her orgasm - the combination of him thick and hard dragging along her silky walls, his balls heavy in her delicate hand, her wrist pressing deliciously against her throbbing nub causing her to see stars. 

“So close,” she warned, rolling her hips in circles to chase her pleasure. 

“Come for me, love” he pleaded with her. “I want to hear you scream for me.”

His words were like a command she couldn’t help but follow - and he cried his name out over and over again as she fell. She squeezed around his cock harshly as everything in her body tensed and shook in sheer ecstasy. 

He loved it when she was loud - bucking into him wildly as she relished in the waves of pleasure he brought her. Her release triggered his own, and a string of curses fell from his lips as he jerked a few final thrusts into her - his cum shooting into her in thick creamy ribbons. 

It was astounding that they were still standing - and he felt the moment her legs started to give out. He brought his arm up to support her while he shimmied his pants back up - the sight of his seed dripping down her thighs sending him headlong into another wave of lust. 

He forced the feeling back down (she looked exhausted, and to be honest, he was too) and he guided her her down the steps to the front pew and laid her down softly so she could rest. 

She felt the bench creak as he sat next to her, gently caressing her legs as they caught their breath. 

“That was…” he licked his lips as he fought to find the right words.

“Earth shattering?” she offered weakly. 

He giggled (actually giggled - like a schoolgirl), and while he recognized his silliness should be embarrassing, his brain was so awash in dopamine - he couldn’t bring himself to care. 

“Indeed, lass. Indeed.”

They sat there in contented silence for a while - both beaming ludicrously as they came down from their overwhelming high. Eventually she sat up and turned around to lay her head in his lap, loving at the way his adam’s apple bobbed when he swallowed thickly at the change in position. 

She blinked up at him through her lashes, emerald eyes shining with what he hoped was the same love he felt for her. 

“Killian?” she sounded quiet and serious. 

“Mmm,” he hummed in response, tucking a stray strand of golden hair behind her ear. 

“Are you worried?”

He furrowed his brow in consternation. 

“About what, love?”

She bit her lip shyly before continuing. “About us.”

His hand stilled for a moment. 

“Should I be?” 

“Well, no - I mean -” she fidgeted a little. “I mean, you’re a priest. And you’re giving that all up - for us. But what if… what if we don’t work out? Then you gave it all up for nothing.”

His heart swelled with adoration for the concern she was showing him - that kind of empathy had been all too rare in his life. 

“I’m not worried, lass.” He soothed, once again stroking the soft hair at her temple. 

“But why not?” she questioned. 

“Because… because even though the church means a great deal to me, I never really fit in here in the Catholic denomination specifically. It’s not just for us. It’s for me.” 

His adam’s apple bobbed again as he gulped down the fear he felt for the words he wanted to say next. 

“Darling Emma,” he cooed, tilting her head a little so he could look her in the eyes. “You may not be ready to hear it, but I love you. I know that I love you. I will always love you, regardless of how you feel for me - I will always love you. You’ve brought me back to myself - you make me want to be the man I forgot I could be - and even if you leave me, I will never go back to just getting by, like I was before.” 

She felt unwelcome tears pricking her eyes at the sentiments he’d expressed. There was something incredibly poetic in the fact that she’d spent so much of her life trying to be “bad,” only to be told that she inspired someone to be their best. 

“Killian, I…” she started - but he cut her off gently. 

“Shhh… It’s alright love. I know you can’t reciprocate yet. But I’m hopeful that someday you will - and we’ve all the time in the world.” He smiled at her kindly, with all of the ease and true understanding she’d craved for years. 

“It’s not that,” she pushed herself up from his lap and turned to face him. “Killian, I think I’m in love with you, too.” 

It was oddly freeing - saying it out loud. She expected to feel a pit of anxiety in her stomach over the admission, but somehow she felt almost lighter. 

Now it was his turn to feel the sting of tears threatening to fall - his brother Liam’s voice in his ears teasing “that’s terribly emasculating, Jones. Get it together before she changes her mind, wanker.”)

“Truly, Emma?” His voice was trembling, and she brought her hand up to the scruff on his jawline, making sure he could read the certainty in her features. 

“Yes. I think I’ve been in love with you for a while now, it was just… it was a little scary. I’ve just got a lot of baggage, you know?”

He smiled softly, “Aye, love. But I’ll happily carry your baggage for you from here on out.”

His chest felt like it would burst with pride - and by the time they made it back to his apartment they were both exhausted (from their exercise as well as their emotionally weighty conversation.)  
When he woke in the middle of the night to her snoring on his chest he broke into a wide grin. 

He was almost unbearably happy, and while he knew he had to have the difficult conversation with the bishop tomorrow, for now he was determined to revel in the moment. 

That night he dreamt of their perfect life together - even of a little girl with his dark hair and her bright green eyes. He couldn’t have known that something trying was headed their way - and as it often goes, the good times go by far too quickly - while the troubling ones tend to linger.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry for the wait! But this one has some smutty smut smut for you, so I hope that makes it better. 
> 
> I think there will only be another couple of chapters - maybe two or three, so we're closing in!

Things were looking up. He hadn’t felt so happy since… well, since they all went to shit - with Milah. The unpleasant thought sent a shockwave of discomfort through him, fleeting though it was.

 

Emma had left early, which was just as well - since he had to make a call to the Bishop this morning anyway to make arrangements. He was practically skipping as he entered the church.

 

“Lucy?” he asked in a sing-song voice. He heard her response before he saw her.

 

“Good morning, father! Aren’t you cheery?” She smiled sweetly back at him.

 

“That I am, Lucy - that I am. And you? How is your mother?” He mused that her mother had better be doing well, because he couldn’t stop smiling even if he wanted to - and he had no intention of making an ass of himself this early in the day.

 

“She’s doing wonderfully, Father! Thank you so much for asking, and for being so flexible about my hours here. I know it’s been difficult, and I’m so very grateful for your understanding and your grace. You’re a wonderful man, and a fantastic priest. I really mean that.”

 

Her sincerity and compliments made him feel itchy - he’d never much gotten used to people saying those kinds of things about him. He always felt like the people who said that just didn’t know him well enough - it was a reflection of their naivete, not of his true nature.

 

He scratched behind his ear awkwardly, “Uh, thanks. Anyway, I’ll be on an important phone call with the bishop for a bit this morning - so if you could just keep an eye on things down here as usual, that would be lovely.”

 

“Of course, Father. If anyone comes by for you I’ll keep them occupied until you’re available again,” she said.

 

He really was lucky to have such a great assistant, and he felt a bit of sadness twist in his stomach over the fact that he was about to desert her.

 

“Thank you, Lucy. I really appreciate all that you do.”

 

He turned on his heel to head up the stairs, mentally preparing to break the news to the Bishop. He’d already set up a call with him - but he had another 20 minutes to jot down some notes on how he wanted to say it.

 

Honesty was obviously the only option, but exactly how much honesty was needed… that was the real question. He didn’t want to just offer up details that the bishop didn’t want.

 

With a deep breath he picked up the phone.

 

Here goes nothing.

 

It only rang once -- the bishop was expecting his call, after all.

 

“Father Jones, you’re right on time - as usual.”

 

Killian could practically hear the other man smiling, and he scrubbed his face with his hand - plucking up the courage to end his obviously good mood.

 

“Yes, Most Reverend, you know how I am about punctuality and good form.”

 

The bishop laughed lightly in response.

 

“Yes, yes - Jones, we all know about your ‘good form,’ but let’s dispense with the formalities. What’s troubling you?”

 

Killian cleared his throat before summoning as much assuredness as he could.

 

“I’m calling to inform you that I must resign from my post, and from my position in the Catholic church. I’ve been offered a position at a church in another town, and I’ve accepted.”

 

The line was deadly quiet - a strange contrast to the levity just moments ago.

 

“Come now, Killian. You can’t be serious.”

 

It was odd to hear the bishop call him by his first name.

 

“I’m truly sorry for any inconvenience, Most Reverend. I will of course stay here until the church is able to find a comparable replacement.”

 

“You don’t need to call me that right now, Jones. Let’s just talk this through a moment. What’s led you to do this?”

 

“I just…” he scratched behind his ear nervously. “I’ve always struggled with faith - you know that. And I tried - really - to fit in here. After all that the Catholic church has done for me… I felt like I owed the church my life. But, I’ve since felt like - I owe my life to God, not to this specific church. And I feel like I’m being led somewhere a little less… traditional.”

 

The bishop sighed heavily.

 

“I understand that the traditions of the Catholic faith can feel a bit, dusty, to the younger generations - like yourself. But I’d urge you to consider staying with it. Every follower has their challenges, Killian - and your faith is something we can work on. The traditions are there for a reason, you can’t just reinterpret the word of God because you don’t like it. A lot of the churches are like that -- they can be more about making people feel good than they are about the truth.”

 

This is what he was worried about -- he didn’t want to defend his decision. He could - he just wasn’t sure how to do this without making it seem like he was ungrateful.

 

“I understand. I will be cautious to stay truthful to the gospel, no matter where I am, but my decision remains.”

 

The line was silent for another few beats before the bishop’s voice came through again, the tone lowered slightly in resignation.

 

“What’s her name, Killian?”

 

“Excuse me?” He’d knew he had heard correctly - it was just such an unexpected question he didn’t know how to respond.

 

“Her name. The woman.” The bishop repeated himself.

 

“How…” Killian stammered.

 

“I knew something was going on with you. You seemed - different. Anyway, I decided to drop by and surprise you for a visit -- yesterday, toward the end of the day, that way I wouldn’t be taking you away from any of your parishioners.”

 

Killian’s heart was at once in his throat - and then dropping suddenly all the way down into his gut like a ball of lead.

 

_He came by last night. You were… oh God._

 

“The door was unlocked, Killian.” The bishop knew he didn’t need to say anything else.

 

His mind was racing, replaying as much as he could remember through their lusty haze and - no. He hadn’t locked the door.

 

“Oh God… I’m so… I’m… ” was all he could manage to say. He was mortified. He felt like a teenager getting caught with porn.

 

_Is he going to report me? Did he already report me? Will I be excommunicated?_

 

“Honestly, I’m just glad it was me who happened upon you - and not a parishioner. The last thing the church needs is more scandal. But in all seriousness - is she the reason you’re leaving?”

 

“Partially, yes. But I wasn’t lying about all of those things I said before.”

 

“Yes, Jones - but those are all things that can be solved. Faith is a work in progress - and we can help you through all of the struggles you described - if only you’d let us.”

 

“I understand, and I thank you for your willingness to help - but I know what I’m doing.” Killian stood firm in his decision.

 

“Then one final question, Jones. You know that once you leave, you can’t come back. And if she decides she doesn’t want you any longer, we cannot take you back. So, are you absolutely certain about her?”

 

His questions echoed all of Emma’s fears from last night -- what happens if they don’t work out?

 

He knows he’d never leave her, but what if she leaves him? Will he change his mind? See things differently? There’s no way to know - but he knows he has to try.

 

“I am absolutely certain I am madly in love with her - and I am absolutely certain that I will be hers until the day I die. It doesn’t matter if she loves me back, it doesn’t matter if she leaves me - none of it will change the way I feel about her. And that means I’ve got to try.”

 

He could hear the bishop’s sharp intake of breath.

 

“Well then, Father Jones. I’ll set about finding your replacement and I’ll notify church leadership of your resignation. I’m sure there can be no objections. I’ll let you know what they say.”

 

“Of course. Thank you.”

 

* * *

 

As soon as he hung up the phone he shakily stood from his office chair and walked around the large desk over to the middle of the room. He bent down and laid on his back on the hardwood - willing his body to calm down.

 

The waves of nerves about calling to resign, the spike of adrenaline when the bishop admitted to catching them in the act in the sanctuary, the uncertainty of what was to happen next -- it all left him feeling woozy and boneless.

 

His mind drifted back to the horrifying fact that the bishop had seen them. How could he be so careless? Was the bishop going to tell the church leadership about it?

 

I mean, he’s a priest who literally had a woman bent over the pulpit screaming in ecstasy -- it doesn’t get more sacrilegious than that.

 

Tendrils of the guilt that had long plagued him started licking back up into his consciousness. Everything that he’s done, every sinful desire that he’s given into, maybe there’s no coming back from that.

 

Even when he changes churches - it won’t change the fact that he’s done these horribly sinful things. It won’t change the fact that he loves it - he loves the sin, the dirt and filth of it.

 

He loves that feeling of giving in and doing something that’s oh-so wrong just because it feels good. He loves losing himself in pleasure. He loves that he’s half-hard just thinking about it - even though he should be disgusted with himself for all that he’s done.

 

How can such disparate traits exist within one person? Such a desire to do right - contrasted with an unquenchable need to indulge in the bad.

 

He stayed there, staring up at the ceiling - adrift in the battle between the destructiveness of his desires and his admiration for the stability of good form - until his back started to ache from the unforgiving floor.

 

Picking himself up with a grunt, he set about making preparations for the day. He still needed to put the finishing touches on his sermon -- and figure out how he’s going to tell the parishioners about the staffing change. Oh, and Lucy.

 

She tries her best not to seem upset when he tells her, but he can see that she’s disappointed - and that stings more than he expected it to.

 

Eager to get some fresh air and clear his head, he says he’s going to step out for a quick coffee at Granny’s, and he’s hardly out the door before reaching for his phone.

 

_**Can you meet me at Granny’s? Need to talk.** _

_Emma: Right now?_

_**If you can swing it, yes.** _

_Emma: I’ll be there in 10._

 

It’s not even noon and it feels like this day is trying to kill him. He needs to tell Emma what the bishop knows, and that kind of thing demands a face-to-face conversation.

 

He’s there a few minutes before her - his pace quickened by jitters he still hasn’t seemed to shake. Maybe a chamomile tea would be better than a coffee right now.

 

Just as Granny passes a steaming mug to him over the counter he hears the bell of the front door, and there’s Emma -- pink cheeks showing that she was just as eager as he was.

 

They slide into a booth at the very end of the diner, her eyes shining with alarm.

 

“What’s going on?”

 

“I don’t mean to panic you, honestly, but I’ve had a talk with the bishop this morning and he…” Killian’s eyes dart from side to side, there’s nobody within earshot anyway, but he lowers his voice all the same. “He came by last night. While we were… and we apparently forgot to lock the door.”

 

Emma stares blankly at him as her mouth drops open in horror.

 

“I don’t know how much trouble we’re in, or who he’s told - or what’s going to happen. But I thought you should know right away.”

 

“Well, what can they do? I mean, you’re leaving anyway - right?”

 

He doesn’t have time to answer her before his cell phone is buzzing loudly on the table.

 

“It’s Lucy -- hold on a moment, love.”

 

He stands up and absentmindedly paces, and she’s left chewing her lip in the booth - trying to calm her pounding heartbeat.  

 

She can overhear him saying “of course, go ahead and patch him through” and then she only catches a few “Yes” and “I understands.”

 

* * *

 

“Father Jones?” Lucy’s voice rings through clear as day.

 

“Hi Lucy, what’s up?” He realizes that was terribly informal just a little too late, but he’s too scattered to worry about it.

 

“It’s the bishop on the line, can I send him over to your cell?”

 

“Yes, of course, go ahead and patch him through.” Killian’s thoughts spin nearly out of control with all the possible reasons he’s calling back so quickly.

 

The line crackles for a moment before the bishop speaks.

“Father Jones?”

 

“Speaking.”

 

“I’ve already spoken with the church leadership and they’ve accepted your resignation - and will have a replacement ready for you to train next week. I didn’t want to leave you wondering about their response.”

 

Oh. That’s it? No censure, no lecture, no excommunication?

 

“Father Jones? Can you hear me?”

 

“Yes, so sorry. Yes I can hear you,” he stumbled through his reply.

 

“Does that work for you, Father Jones?”

 

“Yes, absolutely. Thank you, Most Reverend. And, uhm…” he goes to scratch behind his ear, but he’s been doing it so much today that it’s already raw and his fingers twitch back at the hint of pain it brings. “About the other night…”

 

“Relax, Killian. You’d be surprised how often that happens.” A touch of levity had returned to the bishop’s voice. “You needn’t worry about the… indiscretion -- I’ll keep it to myself for the sake of the church’s reputation, but please refrain from indulging until you are no longer in our employ.”

 

Oh, thank God for that.

 

“Yes, of course. I understand. Thank you.”

 

“You’re welcome. Oh, and Father Jones?”

 

“Yes?”

 

“Good luck.”

 

His hands are still shaking - even though the worst is over. He’s in a daze as he all but shuffles back to Emma, who has now taken to chewing on her nails to soothe her anxiety.

 

“Was that the bishop?” She asks nervously.

 

“Yes, but it’s all OK. He isn’t going to tell anyone.” Killian responds over the buzzing in his ears - still reeling from fear and adrenaline.

 

“Wait, why?” Emma’s brow is knit in confusion -- she knows too much about people to think that the bishop would keep something like that to himself out of sheer kindness. There’s got to be something in it for him.

 

“He said for the sake of the church’s reputation. A scandal doesn’t help them - which, actually makes a lot of sense. I’m sorry to have worried you for nothing - I just… I was kind of freaking out.”

 

For the first time since they’d made it to the diner, she took a minute to actually look at him, and he looked so very different from the man she knew last night. His features were drawn with worry, he looked five years older -- tired, weakened. He didn’t look at all himself.

 

She knew he was stressed about talking to the bishop in the first place, now with all of… that… she can only imagine the kind of terror and  that must’ve coursed through him - and she wished she could’ve been there for him all along.

 

For her, it was just embarrassing, for him - it certainly meant the end of his position in the Catholic church (no going back now), if not excommunication or condemnation from the religion that has been his life’s work.

 

She reached out under the table to grasp his hand - and it broke her heart to feel him trembling in her grasp.

 

“Hey,” she squeezed gently, forcing him to look up into her eyes. “It’s going to be OK. You heard him. We’re OK.”

 

He nodded weakly.

 

“Tell you what,” she continued. “You’re going to call Lucy and tell her you’re not feeling well. I’ll call Graham and do the same. We can go back to your place and just be us. Would you like that?”

 

He nodded again, realizing that he likely wouldn’t get any work done anyway, and he was just too emotionally exhausted to deal with any parishioners who might need him anyway.

 

* * *

 

Lucy sounded skeptical over the phone, but the moment she saw him trudging into the church to collect a few things, she all but ordered him to go home - insisting that she drive him rather than let him walk.

 

She even picked up some chicken noodle soup and brought it to him before heading back to work. That woman was truly an angel.

 

Emma came by about an hour later after finishing up some important paperwork. Graham just chuckled and mumbled some Ferris Bueller’s Day Off joke before letting her leave.

 

When she got there he was curled up on the couch under a ratty blanket, staring at the wall - clearly lost in his thoughts. It had been a while since she’d seen him like this -- but all too quickly she remembered all of those times he had struggled with his conscience and his guilt about their attraction. That’s what he looked like now. All pain and melancholy. None of the light she’d come to see in him.

 

She curled up next to him wordlessly, stroking the hair at his temple in gentle sweeps. She tried to just sit in silence and let him think, but eventually her curiosity gave way.

 

“Killian, you can tell me. What’s going on?”

 

He finally broke his gaze from the wall and looked at her longingly - like she wasn’t really there.

 

“What if it’s too much?” He sighs out.

 

“What if what’s too much?” She has no idea what he’s talking about.

 

“What I’ve done. Who I am. I’m not a good guy.” His eyes are fixed on something far away again. The self-loathing she’d seen so many times bubbling back up to the surface.

 

“Hey, you know I don’t care about any of that. I like you just the way you are.” She soothed. “Besides, you’re not alone in any of this. I was here too.”

 

“But... what if God can’t forgive me? I mean, I’m a priest -- I know better. I know that I shouldn’t and yet I still do it.” He ran his hand through his hair roughly. “You didn’t ever sign on for this. I did. I believe in this -- in heaven and hell, in right and wrong. What if he can’t forgive me?”

 

Tears were springing up into her eyes at his words, she wanted so desperately to comfort him, to tell him it would all be OK. That he was a good man.

 

“Killian, you know I’m not a very ‘religious’ person. But I’ve learned a little being around you -- and the God that I hear you talk about - he doesn’t ask for people to be perfect. He doesn’t need you to be perfect. I don’t need you to be perfect.”

 

He sighed heavily and leaned into her. He knew she was right  - but sometimes he felt like he would be crushed under the mounting weight of his errors and sin.

 

“Truly, love?”

 

She smiled - she was finally getting him to relax.

 

“And what if I’m always messed up? What if I always give in to temptation?”

 

“God will still love you, Killian. As will I.” She didn’t even realize she’d said it until it was already out. It was mere hours ago that she was dragging her feet about admitting that she might be kind-of sorta falling for him - and out it came anyway.

 

His eyes snapped open -- lids that were heavy just a moment ago jolting open at the realization of what she’d said.

 

“Did you…” he almost wasn’t sure if he’d heard her right.

 

Panic overtook her for a brief moment before she decided not to let her fear get the best of her. After all, fear is what turned Killian into this emotional wreck today -- and she despised that so much of their relationship had been tainted by it.

 

“Yes. I said I love you. I’ll love you no matter what sins you get yourself into.” She smiled - the enormous weight of attempting to corral her feelings out of self-preservation finally lifted.

 

“Say it again, love” he pulled her into his chest tightly, his heart thumping steadily under her ear as she nuzzled into him.

 

“I love you. I’m with you. You’ll always have me.”

 

He was incredibly embarrassed at the rogue tear that slipped down his cheek, and when she pushed up from his chest and caught it with the soft pad of her thumb, he leaned forward and kissed her passionately.

 

She sighed into his movements and turned her hips to settle on top of his, granting him better access to her. He rested his damaged arm on her hip, while his good hand gripped her tight enough to leave marks.

 

He felt an overwhelming need to show her just how much he loved her, how much he adored her, how important it was that she accepted him -- just as he was.

 

They spent what felt like an eternity just kissing each other, reveling in the sensation of finally being able to truly express the depth of their feelings.

 

The day had been such an emotional roller-coaster for him, he could hardly believe that they ended up here - with her declaration of love and their kisses slowly become more and more needy.

 

He didn’t miss the way she started slowly moving her hips in tight little circles, pressing further up into his lap until the seam of her jeans was rubbing into his rock hard length. He groaned at the increased pressure and started tilting up into her ever so lightly.

 

“God, love - so gorgeous” he whispered to her, so breathily she almost didn’t hear.

 

At his encouragement she pulled her shirt up over her head, giving him a glorious view of her toned stomach and perky chest as she flung the clothing aside.

 

She fixed her eyes on his hungrily and snaked her arms around the back of his head, her elbows pushing into her breasts just enough to show off her cleavage.

 

“I love you, Killian -- and not just because you’re hot as hell” she teased, and he felt his cock pulse at her rough language. “But because you’re a good man. You make me want to be a better woman - you make me want to be gentle, and soft - and I didn’t know I had that in me.”

 

He smiled up at her - touched by the sentiment, if not a little… distracted by the fact that she was still moving her hips in that incredibly sensual way.

 

He kissed her languidly - pouring every ounce of love and devotion into the twisting and tangling of their tongues. He couldn’t wait any longer. He felt like he would burst if he didn’t make love to her right now.

 

So he swept her up and carried her bridal style to the bed, whispering praises as he laid her down softly, covering her supple body with his toned one.

 

They disrobed slowly, each pressing reverent kisses to the newly exposed skin.

 

When he got to her panties he slipped the delicate material down her lean legs and kissed his way back up to suck lightly at her sensitive bundle of nerves, relishing the wave of wetness that he caused, lapping at her folds in a way that had her squirming.

 

“That’s - ooooh - not what I - ugh - not what I want,” she tugged lightly at his hair, pulling him up her body until his cock was nudging at her entrance.

 

She was still holding onto his hair as his eyes found hers - a slim sapphire-blue ring of color sparkling around his dilated pupils as he gazed at her with immeasurable adoration and devotion.

 

“I’ve wanted this for so long,” he admitted to her. “Not just to have sex, but to make love to you. To worship you the way you deserve.”

 

Such praises still made her a little uncomfortable, nobody had ever talked to her like that before. But even now she was learning to appreciate the way he spoke about her.

 

“May I?” After all the things they’d done together, it seemed funny for him to ask permission, but they both knew this time was different. This wasn’t fueled by lust, but rather by love - and that made all the difference in the world.

She nodded and smiled up at him, pressing her lips into his softly as he slowly pushed into her with a moan -- she was soaked for him, and he slid completely into her with ease.

 

“Oh, God, love” he hissed, pulling out until just the very tip of him was still seated in her.

 

She already missed the feeling of fullness he gave her, and she whimpered a little at the absence.

 

“You’re divine” he praised her as he inched back in, cataloguing every drag of his cock along her silky walls, the feeling of being settled so deeply in her that he bottomed out.

 

She normally wasn’t one for slow and sensual lovemaking, but the way he moved in her - the way his hand roamed her body, as if memorizing every little curve - had her tantalizingly close to that golden edge.

 

It was about now that he’d usually pick up the pace, but he continued to torment her with deliberately long and slow strokes - letting all of his insecurities fall away and focusing on the incredible woman before him.

 

He looked down at her, golden hair splayed out around her, the alabaster skin of her chest flushed pink, the gentle curve of her waist, the way her legs wrapped around him - and then his eyes locked on the sight of his length disappearing into her.

 

It was incredibly erotic to watch himself plunge into her over and over, taking him in like they were designed to fit together just right.

 

He swallowed thickly and brought his good hand to his mouth, licking his fingertips and bringing them down to the point where they were joined.

 

She cried out when his thumb traced light circles over her clit - she was already wound so tightly - and now this.

 

“Oh God, Killian” she watched the way his eyes lit up at her vocal response - and while he kept his hips at the same slow and steady pace, he moved his thumb quicker over her until she could feel her orgasm approaching.

 

“That’s it Emma” his features grew serious as he focused on bringing her over the edge with him - his own orgasm threatening to overtake him at any moment.

 

She bucked up into him and the dam burst - intense waves of pleasure coursing through her as she cried out his name while her inner walls clenched and spasmed around him - sending him over the edge with her. He grunted as he kept snapping his hips, every muscle in his body tensed as he fell - and she swore that even through the intensity of her own orgasm she could feel rope after rope of his seed forcefully pulsing into her.

 

He held himself above her as they caught their breath, until his arms started shaking with the effort and he rolled to the side to lay next to her.

 

She curled into him and laid her head on his chest, pressing a kiss to the wiry hairs that grew there.

 

“I love you, Killian. And I’m proud of you.” She said quietly.

 

“I love you too, Emma. Always and forever.”

  
  



	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're getting close to the end! I think I've got one more chapter and an epilogue. 
> 
> Since were nearing the light at the end of the tunnel, I wanted to take a moment to say THANK YOU to everyone who read any or all of this. It's my first real foray in to fic writing, and I've been astounded by the support I've received. You all are awesome.

His replacement was supposed to be here today -- and he still hadn’t quite figured out how to tell the congregation about the change.

 

Amidst all his happiness that he would soon be able to date Emma properly and embark on a new adventure with a church he felt much more suited to, there was a cloud of guilt over leaving the people of Storybrooke with another new priest.

 

There’s always a warming up period when a new priest arrives. Some of the older parishioners get nervous that they’re going to change things too much. Some of the younger ones worry that they’ll be too traditional and boring. And, of course, any normal person feels a little uncomfortable in the confessional with someone they haven’t yet come to trust.

 

In fact, many of them still didn’t trust him - and although he wanted to be bold enough to say he didn’t care, it bothered him to know that some people out there thought poorly of him.

 

A sharp knock on his office door jolted him out of his thoughts - and a moment later Lucy was introducing his trainee - Father William Smee.

 

He was a little older than Killian, stodgy in build with a nervous demeanor that his hunched shoulders and downward glances did little to hide. They got to know each other over a cup of coffee (Lucy mentioned that the Keurig was a good investment - and as in all other things, she appeared to be right.)

 

Killian had asked a few questions about Smee’s background, and was moved at his unwavering devotion to the faith. After a tragic accident took his parents from him - Smee recounted the need to know that there is life eternal beyond this earth, that it didn’t sit right to him that life could end, just like that.

 

He’d make a great priest - a little quiet at first, but Storybrooke was a quiet town, and that might be just the right fit.

 

* * *

 

“I know you, Emma. I know something’s been going on. Just tell me who he is!” Mary Margaret had been asking questions on and off for a while now, but she was determined to get something out of her today.

 

In retrospect, this whole “weekly family lunch” thing was possibly the worst idea she’d ever had.

 

Emma curtly responded “why does it have to be a man?”

 

“Isn’t it, though?”

 

“Maybe it’s a woman,” she shot back. Both her parents rolled their eyes at the same time.

 

Emma huffed out a defeated sigh.

 

“I can’t say much just now. Yes, there’s a man. Yes, we’re kind of… dating? But that’s all I can say.”

 

Her mother’s eyes lit up like she’d just won the lottery, and her father… well, it was hard to read his reaction. She noticed he crossed his arms and furrowed his brow a little, but his shoulders stayed relaxed - as if there was a part of him that was glad she’d found someone.

 

“Emma, you can’t leave it there! We need details! You have to tell me everything! How long have you been seeing each other? Do we know him? How did you meet?” Her questions shot out rapid-fire.

 

“Just to be clear,” he father interrupted - still wearing his displeased expression, “some of us don’t want to know _everything_.”

 

“I told you - I can’t say much. It’s been going on for a while now - and you’ll find out who he is soon enough.” Emma broke into a smile at the thought of finally being able to date Killian out in the open. She knew they’d get some push-back from the more conservative folks in town, but all that mattered is that they could be together - and give this relationship a real shot.

 

* * *

 

He’d never struggled so much with a sermon in his life. On the one hand, he didn’t want to mention his departure in passing at the end, like it was just another church announcement about a bake sale or something, but to talk about it too much seemed self-important.

 

After spending most of the past few days showing Smee the ropes - he hadn’t left much time for writing, and he desperately needed to wrap this up. He stood up from his desk chair and paced in his office before deciding he’d likely have better luck going out for a real walk (some of his best sermons came to him along the docks.)

 

He gave quick explanation of his outing to Lucy, who was going over some paperwork with Smee, and shoved his hands deeply into his pockets before stepping out into the cool autumn breeze. He’d prefer to go for a run right now, really, but with it being the middle of the day - he didn’t want to set a bad example for their new recruit.

 

He’d contemplated bringing his headphones, but the sounds of the water nearby and his black dress shoes on the wooden boards were plenty of background noise for the internal dialogue bouncing in his brain.

 

_It can’t be that hard. Just tell them why you’re leaving._

 

**_OK. So why are you leaving? For sex?_ **

 

_It’s not that. It’s… more than that. It’s about the way I feel about her is just… I’m not alone anymore. I finally feel like I’m not alone. It’s about love._

 

**_Love. How trite. And what about your love for God? That means nothing to you now?_ **

 

_Of course not. I still love God, I even still love the church. I just… I hate that God gave me this capacity to love, and yet I’m not allowed to express it. I see couples all the time who hold each other’s hands as they walk down the street and think nothing of it. I want that so badly.  I feel like being able to love her - openly - will make me a better man, a better priest, even._

 

He sighed deeply and ran a hand roughly through his hair, scratching at his scalp as he went. And then it hit him.

 

It’s 1 John 4:8. That’s what it is.

 

“Whoever does not love does not know God, because God is love.”

 

I now know love - and I want to experience that fully, so that I can better know God, because God is love.

 

He smiled to himself - and writing his final sermon as a Catholic priest came surprisingly easy after that.

 

* * *

 

“Are you nervous?”

 

He jumped a little at the sound of her voice - the open doors of his armoir had blocked his view of the door and allowed her to sneak up on him as he pulled on his robes for the final time.

 

“A bit, yeah.” He scratched behind his ear and glanced downward as he spoke, and with that she knew he was more nervous that he was willing to admit.

 

“Are you going to say anything about me? I figure I deserve fair warning since I’m here with my parents and all.” She crossed her arms and put her weight on one foot as she said it. Her slightly aggressive posture (and the impropriety of being alone with him in his office while there was a church full of people downstairs) had him flashing back to when they first met.

 

Her bravado was one of the first traits he fell in love with. Her confident nature hid a much more complicated truth, of course, but he himself had been like that in his youth - and it made him smile to think of them being similar that way. He’d finished dressing and closed the doors to the armoir before walking toward her.

 

“I’m going to talk about love, yes. And I will say that I’m leaving because I fell in love, but I wasn’t planning on ‘naming names’ so to speak.” He chanced a quick caress of her cheek before stepping back to a more appropriate distance.

 

“I figure it will be obvious before long, but I don’t need to feed the gossip any more than is necessary. That and -” he looked toward the door to make sure they were alone. “I hadn’t asked for your opinion on the matter, so I thought it best to err on the conservative side.”

 

She mused for a moment, contemplating exactly what her thoughts were. To be honest, she’d thought a lot about it the past few days. She thought about calling him to talk about it, before deciding that this was his domain, his decision - and she should let him lead.

 

When he didn’t bring it up, she suppressed the urge to feel hurt for being excluded. She tried to feel simply excited for him, but it was harder than she thought. It did involve her, after all, and she could hardly keep her parents at bay about this “mystery man” forever.

 

He caught the slightly devious upturn of her lips, curving into her trademark smirk - and he knew she was up to no good.

 

“I say get it all out in the open, Jones. Like ripping off a bandaid. It won’t be comfortable, but it’s always better to get it over with.” She headed toward the door, catching the frame with her hand as she turned to look back at him over her shoulder. “Think of it as a challenge.”

 

He wanted to laugh at her throwing his words back at him like that (he’d said them to her several times - mostly in various compromising positions), but the levity lasted only a moment or two before the lead weight of anxiety settled into the pit of his stomach once more.

 

* * *

 

The traditional hymns and readings went by all too quickly, and he found himself standing at the pulpit prepared to give his final sermon as a Catholic priest. The church wasn’t quite as full as usual (thank God for that), and his eyes quickly found the Nolan family in the pews. Emma was seated between her mother and father, giving him an encouraging look.

 

He started in on all of the ways that love is portrayed in the bible. There’s the love of our Heavenly Father, the love for our fellow man, the love we have for our children - and then there’s romantic love.

 

His eyes kept focused on her the entire time he spoke about romantic love -- so much, in fact, that the brazen Emma Nolan (the very same one who’d sat stone-faced as her phone sent lewd texts to him during service) started to blush. He even caught Mary Margaret and David glancing back and forth - their eyes drawing invisible paths to try and figure out who he was staring so intently at.

 

“...which brings me to an announcement of sorts,” he said with finality before clearing his throat and picking his head up from his notes. “I’m sorry to say that this is my last sermon with you all.”

 

The entire room went deathly silent and still in an instant. It would’ve been funny if it wasn’t such a serious moment.

 

_Oh sure. **Now** you all listen intently._

 

He shifted his weight from one foot to the other, just trying to keep himself from locking his knees and passing out.

 

“When I first came here I had no idea what was in store for me. And you’ve all been so gracious and kind...”  

 

He stalled, trying to will himself to get to the difficult part.

 

_It’s now or never, Jones. Get on with it._

 

“I’ve spent the past 40 minutes talking about the importance of love, and how - through love - we can come to understand the true veracity of God’s grace. I would be a hypocrite indeed if I had an opportunity for such love in my life, and I denied it. And while it’s been an absolute joy to get to know you, there is one reason in particular that this parish will always hold a special place in my heart.”

 

Emma’s own heart skipped a beat - she was fidgeting like a 3-year-old who just wanted to hurry up and get on with their day. She didn’t even realize she’d been holding her breath until her head started to hurt for the lack of oxygen.

 

“During my stay here, I…” he sucked in a deep breath and found Emma’s emerald eyes shining back at him from the pews, her gentle nod nudging him to continue. He scratched behind his ear again (damn that spot was raw) before picking up once more. “You see, I’ve fallen in love with Emma Nolan  - and being a priest… well, that makes love a bit of a challenge.”

 

Absolutely everyone in the church gasped at once - it’s a wonder there was any air left in the building at all - and within a second a din of hushed voices echoed through the small sanctuary. Everywhere he looked he saw scandalized expressions, ranging from shock to disgust - and through it all there was Emma, smile radiating like a beacon of hope.

 

Even that only lasted a second before her father was tugging her out of the pews and straight down the aisle to the main doors. Emma looked back at him one last time - his face pale with worry still standing at the pulpit looking slightly shocked himself as the congregation below buzzed with censure and judgment.

 

He had to get control of this. Now.

 

“Please, quiet down now” he called out over the clatter, which slowly faded back down. “Thank you. Now, I know this comes as quite a surprise, but I assure you that the church will be in good hands. Father William Smee will be replacing me starting next Sunday, and we’ll be having a little ‘get to know you’ with coffee and treats on Wednesday so you can get to know him better. Thank you for your kindness, and peace be with you.”

 

As soon as he’d concluded he leapt down from the pulpit and ran down the center aisle - needing to explain himself to Mr. and Mrs. Nolan.

 

* * *

 

“Dad, stop!” Once they were out the door Emma pulled her arm back from her father’s grasp. “I’m not a child - you can’t just drag me out of there!”

 

David paced back and forth, breathing heavily as he tried to reign in his emotions.

 

“Unbelievable.” He was muttering angrily under his breath - Emma couldn’t tell if she was meant to understand what he was saying or not.

 

“I can see that you’re upset - but seriously we’re both adu-”

 

“He’s a priest, Emma!” David was shouting in the courtyard, and Mary Margaret (who had just been following in stunned silence) stepped over to touch his arm to soothe him. He recoiled at her touch - too riled for such softness.

 

“He’s more than that! He’s a good  man, an honest man. He loves me and I love him!” Emma’s eyes were alight with passion - and Killian was lucky enough to catch her declaration as he swung open the church doors and found her challenging her father on his behalf.

 

His heart swelled with pride at the sight of her - gloriously fierce in her defense of the depth of their feelings for each other. Her eyes met his, over the shoulder of her father - but their shared glance didn’t go unnoticed.

 

David followed his daughter’s line of sight and it was evident by his body language the instant he saw Killian. His shoulders tensed and he turned on his heel swiftly, striding to close the distance between them, fists clenched at his sides.

 

Kilian raised his hands - open palms facing the clearly irate man charging toward him.

 

“Mr. Nolan, please let me exp-”

 

He didn’t have time to finish his sentence as David’s fist crashed violently against the side of his face, jaw hanging slack as he was sent reeling backward. If it weren’t for the ringing in his ears he could have heard Emma’s concerned yelp or Mary Margaret’s pleas for mercy.

 

_You deserved that, mate. Honestly._

 

The way David stepped back, shaking out his right hand - they all knew the one blow did all the damage he sought. Mary Margaret ran to her husband’s side, and Emma to Killian’s - her fingers immediately tracing the red mark already spreading up toward his eye.

 

“I deserved that.” Killian said solemnly. “Actually, I’m sure I deserve worse.”

 

“Damn right you do,” David quipped - his wife smacking his arm at his response.

 

“I realize the timing of this is -- less than ideal,” Killian started. Emma’s grip on his arm tightening in solidarity. “But sir, I can assure you I love your daughter with all my heart - and she’s been kind enough to trust me with her heart - and I don’t intend to let her down.”

 

Though she’d done her best to hide it (not wanting to provoke her husband’s tenuous grip on his temper), a smile spread ever so slightly across her lips.

 

David sighed heavily in resignation. As much as he wanted to continue being angry - even he couldn’t deny that Emma had seemed happier than he’d ever seen her, and he knew himself that the priest before him was a (generally) good man.

 

“I can’t…” David shook his head. “I can’t talk about this now.” And with that, he headed toward the parking lot.

 

“Just give him some time,” Mary Margaret smiled weakly before following her husband.

 

People had started filing out of the church just as David struck him, and they were now milling about - pretending not to be hanging around just for gossip and scandal as they watched the fallout of his announcement.

 

They were suddenly aware of how many eyes were on them - and though he wanted nothing more than to take her in his arms and tell the lot of them to fuck off, he’d already caused enough scandal and ---

 

_No, you know what? Screw it._

 

He gripped Emma around the waist, a gasp leaving her lips as her expression changed from worry to surprise at his bold action.

 

“Killian, everyone’s watching…” Her tone was rebuking but they way her hips tilted into his touch made him think she didn’t mind so much. His gaze turned hungry and his voice lowered as he stepped a little closer to whisper in her ear.

 

“Let them watch.”

 

Her breath hitched at the warmth of his words, a bolt of arousal shooting down her spine and settling low in her belly. He pulled back enough to catch they way her pupils dilated at his directness, and he held himself mere centimeters from her - the heat of his breath warming her lips as he waited for her to close the distance between them. Ever the gentleman, he let her make the decision.

 

She swayed into him to close the gap and pressed her lips into his, a sigh of contentment rumbling from his chest as she tilted her head to grant him better access and tightly gripped the sash over his shoulders - the silk sliding through her fingers easily. He kissed her deeply before retreating - realizing that they really shouldn’t be making out in the church courtyard while he was still in his full robes.

 

They broke apart and pressed their foreheads together for a brief moment - eyes closed, trying to savor the final seconds of their moment, before facing the voyeurs still muttering to themselves about their sins and impropriety.

 

“I should at least go change…” He finally said. She laughed heartily in response, relenting her grip on his sash.

 

“I suppose so. Meet you at your place after?” Her smile was radiant - and he was just as eager to spend some time alone with her, if not only to have a chance to talk about what to do about her parents.

 

Despite his profession, he wasn’t quite old-fashioned enough to say he’d stop seeing her because of her parents’ disapproval, but he desired it all the same.

 

“Aye, love. It may be a few hours - but make yourself at home. You remember where the spare key is?” He rubbed reassuring patterns into the soft skin between her thumb and forefinger as he spoke.

 

“Of course I remember, but you know I could pick the lock even if I didn’t,” she teased him, giving his hand a final squeeze before letting him head back into the church.

 

* * *

 

It was finally done - out in the open. Now all that was left is to tie up loose ends and pack up his few belongings. He’d have to move out of the apartment as well, but luckily Smee had given him an extra few weeks on that account.

 

Even so, he really should get a jump on that.

 

He could fit his personal items in a shoebox, so packing didn’t take very long. Though he wanted to get back to Emma right away, he took a moment to make a few calls about nearby apartments - there was one by the harbor he was particularly fond of, and he was all set with an appointment to see it tomorrow morning.

 

He stood in the doorway to his office, memories flooding his senses - Emma saucily uncapping her trademark sharpie with her teeth, him laying open his robes for them on the hard wooden floor, the many times he’d stared out the window to the courtyard - listening intently for God’s voice, battling his demons and desires and preparing sermons.

 

The church had given him so much. It had given him refuge from the harshness of the streets, a warm meal when his stomach was tearing itself up with acrid hunger, a kind word when his despair had reached impossible depths, a leg-up when he was ready to seek independence, sanctuary when it all shattered in front of him and he lost all hope along with his hand, encouragement and faith to help him pull together the scattered pieces of his tormented soul, and finally (finally) love like he never could have imagined - Emma.

 

With a final clearing breath, he clicked the door shut behind him and set about starting his new life with the incredible woman waiting for him at home.

 

 


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's only one more chapter after this! THANK YOU for sticking with me!

Even though it was a bit more expensive than he’d like - he decided to get the apartment by the marina. Despite the fact that the water’s edge had been where he’d lost his hand, he still found it calming. It was the first place he started to feel like he was finally getting his act together after he’d left home, and it felt fitting to start this new chapter by the water as well.

 

He started working at the new church this week, and so far it was mostly just getting to know the elders and the staff. It was going to be nice to have the flexibility to choose his own series topics, rather than the “regularly scheduled programming” of the liturgy - but at the moment he found the freedom a bit challenging. With so many options he found it that much harder to choose.

 

It’s like standing in the bread section and being paralyzed with the choices between white, wheat, sourdough, rye, organic versions of all of the above, in at least six different brands… the possibilities made his head swim. He chose to focus on getting settled in, but (unfortunately) the move was fairly easy, since he really didn’t have much in the way of personal items to cart around.

 

The apartment was sparse, but Killian had always preferred things that way anyway - he liked the modern school of decor, everything sleek and minimalist. He did buy himself a little indulgence the other day while he was walking around some of the shops near the new church - an antique ship in a large bottle. Honestly, it looked a little like a pirate ship - darker and more menacing than the bright yellow and blues of the more regal-looking ships you’d normally find encased in glass.

 

It seemed out of place - like it wasn’t quite fit for its position of prominence, a bit too dinged up and dingy to warrant the reverence. It was Emma who pointed out that it’s likely he picked it because it reminds him of himself. How that woman knows him so well after such a relatively short period of time together is still a mystery to him.

 

His heart stuttered in his chest just thinking about her, and it broke him from his thoughts.

 

_Shit. It’s late._

 

He hadn’t even realized - but it was suddenly 7:30 and he was still sitting at his desk with the black line of the cursor blinking on the discouragingly empty page. He huffed out a sigh and scrubbed his hand through his hair, scratching at his scalp as he worked his hand backward.

 

Clicking shut the laptop and sliding it into his bag, he flicked off the lights and went about locking up for the night. He fished the keys from his pocket and pulled his phone out to send Emma a quick text.

 

The notification on his screen let him know that she beat him to it.

 

_Emma: Rough day. Want to have some take-out with me tonight?_

 

She sent it about an hour ago, but he was hopeful as he typed out his response.

 

_Killian: Still up for some take-out? I’ve got some work to do, but I’d love to see you._

 

He’d made it to the car by the time his phone buzzed again.

 

_Emma: Meet you at your place with the usual in 30?_

 

His lips curled into a broad smile, wondering to himself how he got so lucky.

 

_Killian: Sounds perfect, love. See you soon._

 

* * *

 

She let herself in - he’d given her a key the day he moved in - and set the bags on the counter before pressing her palms into the hard tiles and leaning her weight forward, stretching the muscles in her arms and back. She slowly rolled her head from side to side, cracking her neck to release some of the tension.

 

As soon as she stepped in she’d recognized the tell-tale hiss of running water, and she suddenly desperately wanted to be under the hot spray of the water. As she stepped lightly down the hallway and into the master bathroom and heard a few notes floating from the steamy room - the door still open a crack.

 

The tune was romantic, if not a little melancholy - and she leaned in closer to make out the words.

 

“She blows outta nowhere, roman candle of the wild. Laughing away through my feeble disguise. No other version of me I would rather be tonight. And, Lord, she found me just in time.”

 

His voice curled around the words deliciously, and Emma couldn’t help but feel lured by it. She slipped off her shoes and pulled her jacket from her shoulders before pushing the door open just a little further. He was singing in earnest now, and her heart leapt at his passion and talent for it..

 

“She's gonna save me, call me ‘baby,’ run her hands through my hair. She'll know me crazy, soothe me daily, better yet she wouldn't care.”

 

The luscious tone of his voice and the steamy room (along with the image of him naked all soaped up just beyond that door) had her turned on in an instant. Not wanting to give the poor man a heart attack, she tapped lightly on the door to get his attention - his voice stopped immediately in embarrassment.

 

“Emma?” He called from behind the curtain. “Sorry, I’ll be out in just a sec.”

 

She quickly pulled off her jeans and t-shirt, slipping out of her bra and panties in record time, before sliding the curtain back to see his jaw drop at the sight in front of him. Her creamy pale skin was tantalizingly on display before him as she held back the shower curtain.

 

“Permission to come aboard, Captain?” She teased.

 

He swallowed thickly and she didn’t miss the way his adam’s apple bobbed and his cock twitched at her gloriously nude form. She wasn’t disappointed in the state of him either, little bubbles of shampoo still lingering in his hair - trails of the soap streaking down the toned planes of his shoulders and chest, working their way down to his taught stomach, to the V at his waist - bringing her eyes directly to his growing arousal.

 

“Granted.” He finally stammered before stepping back to allow her room to step in.

 

She put her hand to his chest as she gingerly lifted her foot over the edge of the tub, and he brought his good hand around to her waist to steady her. With both feet firmly planted he gripped her a little tighter, lust burning in his eyes.

 

“Got your sea legs there, sailor?” He teased back - arching an eyebrow at her. She wriggled a little in his grip, liking the pressure he applied to keep her right where he wanted her.

 

“Aye, Captain.” She played along.

 

His gaze alight with mischief he simply replied “good” before bringing his lips to hers in an all-consuming kiss. She sighed into him, enjoying the beat of the warm water against her sore shoulders - each swipe of his tongue against hers relaxing her just a little bit more.

 

She slid her hands up his chest - the task made even easier as her fingertips rolled over the slick soap still clinging to his skin. His eyes fell closed at the feeling of her fingers moving over him, just a few minutes ago he’d been standing here alone - he couldn’t have imagined such intense pleasure being moments away.

 

Her hands found their way to his hair, working through the remaining streaks of shampoo before turning them slowly so he could dip his head beneath the spray of the water. When he brought his head back up his knees gave out a little at the sight of her -- moving out from the warm spray had made goosebumps crawl up her delicate skin, her rosy nipples standing at attention from the sudden cold.

 

He brought his good hand around her back and pulled one of them to his lips, kissing and sucking until he could hear her keening above him. Her soft skin felt like heaven against his lips - and if she wasn’t literally begging for more he would’ve been quite happy to stay there forever.  

 

“Killian, please - I need more.” She breathed out in desperation - aching for him to fill her.

 

He chuckled lowly - “Aye, and you’ll get it.”

 

His hand dipped down to cup her where she needed him - finding her slick and ready for him. She moaned at the contact as he swiped his fingers upward to toy with her clit.

 

She was seeing stars already, he knew exactly how to dance his fingers across her sensitive bundle of nerves to have her panting and arching her back -- the tense day leaving her ready to snap embarrassingly soon - but this wasn’t how she wanted it.

 

“Please, Killian - I want _you_ ” she emphasized the final word as she snaked her hand between them to grip his length - a hiss escaping his lips at the sudden pressure.

 

He nodded his understanding and turned her around, running his bad arm down her back as his good hand gripped her hip - she leaned forward, knowing he must have a spectacular view of her ass like this.

 

Tilting his hips forward he took himself in hand and dragged himself through her soaking folds, coating his tip with her arousal before nudging at her entrance. With one swift thrust he was seated deeply in her - his cock buried to the hilt hitting that spot that made her breath hitch.

 

He slowly pulled himself back until he was nearly out of her entirely, before snapping his hips to push inside her with a grunt. He knew he wouldn’t last long like this - the way her feet were set so close together had created a new deliciously tight sensation that would send him over the edge quickly.

 

Luckily he could feel her fluttering around him - and he knew she wasn’t far behind. With renewed vigor he set a brutal pace, slamming into her as deeply as he could as he brought his hand around to her clit - rubbing tight circles until he could feel her start to convulse around him.

 

The twin sensations of his cock dragging heavily along her walls and his fingers expertly working her clit had her crashing over the edge - wave after wave of glorious pleasure washed over her as she cried out in ecstasy. The power of her orgasm triggered his own, her muscles clamping around his bare cock just too much for him to take - his hips stuttered as he spurted his release deeply inside her, choking out her name as he pulsed through his own orgasm.

 

They were both left feeling sated and boneless - and they washed up quickly before staggering out of the shower and toweling off to land in a tangled heap on the couch.

 

Killian was the one who got up long enough to stumble over to the takeout boxes (still relatively warm somehow) and drag them over the the sofa. They ate in relative silence, save only their shared laughter at Emma’s Netflix choice of Peter Pan (he secretly loved her child-like tendencies, but reserved the right to tease her about them).

 

Once he was certain she was asleep, he carefully leaned over to pull his laptop from his bag. His first sermon was in two days - and he couldn’t very well put it off any more. He had to come up with something.

 

It was hard to focus on anything but the incredible woman snuggled at his feet - he couldn’t figure out how in the world he got lucky enough that she would give him the time of day, let alone look at him the way she does.

 

Wait… that’s it! A sermon on God’s grace and love. The fact that God loves us, even though we don’t deserve it. Even though we didn’t do anything to earn it - it’s there, just the same. That kind of love can be such a blessing - if you can find it.

 

He smiled broadly - of course she would be his inspiration, as always. From that point on, the sermon practically wrote itself, and though he was up until nearly 2 a.m., it was done. Now all that was left was to deliver the damn thing - and try not to make an ass of himself on his first official day as the new pastor.

 

* * *

 

In a blur of new faces and eager handshakes - Killian was feeling unsteady at best. Without the traditional robes to obscure it, his prosthetic felt like it might as well be glowing in neon. He kept fidgeting with the sleeve of his dark blue button-down shirt, trying to pull it further down, the fabric straining slightly before pulling back up to it’s natural resting place.

 

He’d been scanning the crowds for her - she said she’d come to support him, and possibly even bring her parents if she thought her father wouldn’t hit him again. His jaw twinged a bit at the memory of the blow - Killian knew how to throw a punch (a necessity when you worked on the docks), and David Nolan could swing with the best of them.

 

All too soon one of the staff was helping him get his mic set up, and they were headed into the worship center. While the band played a few songs, he kept fidgeting and searching for her in the crowd. It wasn’t until he was standing at the pulpit that he finally saw her - dressed casually in dark jeans and a plaid shirt, next to her mother (who’d predictably opted for a dressier long skirt and sweater combo) and -- huh, David Nolan.

 

_Well that’s a surprise._

 

Just the sight of her calmed him down - and he started what would soon be the smoothest sermon of his entire life. He couldn’t be sure if it was just that his life was finally starting to fall into place, or if God was feeling particularly kind today - but his preaching stayed on point, the churchgoers were attentive and polite and there wasn’t even a crying baby to contend with.

 

He left the podium in high spirits, and was happily chatting with members of his new church home when he saw it -- David and Mary Margaret had stepped away to catch up with some old friends, and Emma had been left on her own for just a few moments - long enough for a man to approach her.

 

Her body language changed immediately. She was on high-alert, her walls were up as high as he’d ever seen - and this man… something about him was just… off. He wasn’t particularly tall, but he had an imposing sort of sensibility, he seemed to be crowding her in a way that she didn’t appreciate - leaning further in than was necessary to talk to her.

 

He immediately excused himself from his current conversation and tried to make his way over to her, but there were so many people in between.

 

She had her back against the wall now, and he was still stepping closer, his hand making it’s way down to her waist in a place that had Killian’s blood boiling in an instant. He saw her push back against him, trying to put some space between them, but the man didn’t move - in fact, he could swear he heard him laugh.

 

Running on pure adrenaline now, Killian pushed his way through the crowd to get to her - he had no idea who this man was, but he wanted to kill him for making her so uncomfortable - and in a bloody church no less!

 

“Neal, please - Can we do this somewhere else?” She pleaded with the man - fear tinging her voice with an unfamiliar tone.

 

Neal. Killian was seeing red now. This was the man who’d caused her so much pain - who’d hurt her. His fist was clenched as he closed the distance.  

 

When he finally reached them he pulled on the man’s shoulder to pry him away from Emma, the look of relief on her face a stark contrast to the look of anger and shock in his brown eyes.

 

“Leave her alone, mate.” He was seething with anger, lips drawn tightly as his jaw clenched. “This is not the time, nor the place.”

 

Neal’s expression split into a sickening smile.

 

“Is that so, preacher-man?”

 

The last thing Killian wanted to do was cause a scene. Hell, he left his last church with a dramatic punch to the face - he really didn’t want to start his tenure here the same way.

 

“Please. Leave.” Killian hissed through clenched teeth.

 

Neal eyed him warily. “Fine.” He turned back to Emma. “We were just leaving anyway, weren’t we, Ems?”

 

Neal reached for her waist again and started to tug her toward the door - she jumped at the unwanted contact, starting to struggle against him.

 

Killian didn’t even have a chance to make the smart decision - he was blinded by the fury he felt at this man blatantly hurting Emma, pushing her. His clenched fist made contact with Neal’s jaw in a loud crack that had the entire congregation suddenly turned to stare.

 

_So much for first impressions._

 

Neal stumbled backward a few steps, blinking rapidly as he brought his hand to the side of his face.

 

“I’m not going to ask you again. Please leave, now.” Killian towered over Neal as he was doubled over from the hit.

 

Finally, he righted himself and walked out through the main doors - Killian breathing a sigh of relief at his departure.

 

A round of applause broke out behind him, and when he turned he saw the entire congregation clapping enthusiastically. Killian’s face contorted into a mask of confusion - what the hell kind of church clapped for their pastor punching someone?!

 

Sensing his confusion - one of the staff members rushed over and whispered to him, “We’ve all been wanting to do that for years - and honestly, he had it coming.”

 

In all of the commotion, Emma had found her way back to her parents - shoulders hunched as her father put his arm around her protectively. He’d never seen her like that. She looked so… small. The Emma he knew, and had come to love, was such a fearsome creature - and this man managed to make her cower in fear.

 

He wanted nothing more than to soothe her, and as he approached the Nolan family, he was met with yet another surprise. David released his daughter and stepped toward Killian with his hand extended.

 

“Thank you.” David said, a little sheepishly. “I, uh, would’ve done the same.”

 

Killian broke into a smile and rubbed his cheekbone - which was still a little sore.

 

“Don’t I know it,” he teased.

 

And just like that – the tension between them fell, and David stepped back to allow Emma to move into his arms. And for the first time in a long time, he felt like things really were going to work out for him.


	16. Chapter  16

At first he was worried that Emma would be upset with him for causing such a scene and letting his anger get the best of him (to be perfectly honest he was quite upset with himself), but the way she melted into his chest as he wrapped his arms around her told him that she was just relieved for the whole thing to be over. 

Perhaps the anger would come later, but for now he held her tightly and whispered “You’re OK, love, I’ve got you,” into the soft hair just above her ear. 

He caught Mary Margaret’s eyes as he began to rub reassuring circles into Emma’s shoulder to help calm her down - and in them he could see her gratitude and understanding. She gave him the slightest nod with her lips curling into a hint of a sad smile before moving to her husband’s side and whispering into his ear. 

Whatever she said made David give him a similar nod before they both turned toward the door - a silent approval for him to be the one to comfort their daughter. 

With their departure he became aware of the fact that they were still standing in the lobby, and though people weren’t outright staring at them - they really should go find somewhere a little more private. 

He brought his good hand down to hers - interlacing their fingers as he led her to his office. He was grateful for the soft brown leather couch that still remained from the previous pastor and he directed her to it gingerly, letting her lie across the cushions. Despite the ample space to stretch out, she stayed slightly curled in on herself - too much like the scared woman he’d seen moments ago when Neal had cornered her. 

He crouched down on the floor in front of the sofa, her face still hidden behind stray strands of her golden tresses. It was like a security blanket for her. She didn’t want him to see her so… weak. But when he brought his hand up to tuck her hair behind her ear - she didn’t stop him, but she flinched. 

Her jade eyes were rimmed in red, cheeks flushed pink - either in fear of Neal or embarrassment of his actions, he couldn’t yet tell. He felt like his heart had shattered in his chest - the sharp edges of it piercing his lungs, making it impossible for him to catch a full breath. 

“My darling, I’m so sorry” he soothed. Kissing her forehead sweetly. “I just…” He sucked in a harsh breath. “I just couldn’t stand to see you like that. You looked so uncomfortable, distraught even - and then when I realized…” his voice trailed off and her gaze finally met his - the tears forming there making her eyes seem impossibly magnified. “When I realized it was… him. I just couldn’t help it.”

He searched her expression for any hint of a reaction, but found none. At her silence he felt the distinct slither of doubt and self-consciousness worming it’s way through his body - it made him shudder to think his lack of control could have just cost him the one thing he wanted most: for Emma to feel comfortable around him. 

He desperately wanted to be steadfast for her - secure and strong in a way that she hadn’t experienced yet. And then he had to go and fly off the handle and ruin all of that. Lost in the raging seas of his emotions - he’d almost missed her small voice. 

“Killian?” 

He looked back to her with a furrowed brow, as if he could still catch the outline of his name on her lips if he concentrated hard enough. She was shaking a little, but she reached her hand out to touch his arm. 

“Thank you.” She all but whispered it on a sigh - so much breath behind the words they barely made it to his ears, but once they did - the tension fell from his shoulders and face, his lips even quirking up into an appreciative grin. 

“I’d do it again in a heartbeat,” he replied, bringing his thumb to her cheek to swipe at the tear that had finally fallen. “I’ll die before I let anyone hurt you.”

The sincerity in his words shot straight to her heart. She believed him. She believed that he would do anything in his power to protect her. 

“No one has ever…” her voice was finding it’s strength now, little by little. “I’ve always felt so alone. Like it was me against the world. But, just then - I…” her voice was cracking now, but she willed herself to continue. “I was never the kind of girl who wanted to be protected, but just then - I wanted help, and then there you were.”

He could feel those broken pieces of his heart making their way back to their proper place in his chest as she spoke - the sentiment tender and proud in a way he never felt deserving of. 

“I’ll always be there, love. Always.” He cupped her chin lightly, bringing his lips to her forehead for another gentle kiss. “He won’t be a problem any more. You can relax now. You’re safe.”

She was so exhausted - the adrenaline from the unexpected encounter and the ensuing “fight” (if you could call it that), had run it’s course, and now left her feeling dazed and drained. Killian grabbed the throw blanket on the other side of the couch and pulled it up over her, continuing to stroke her hair and whisper reassurances.  
She had no idea how long they sat there like that, or even if she had stayed awake. She was so tired and relaxed that she may have dozed off for a while. But when her stomach started grumbling she realized it must’ve been quite a while. 

Poor Killian was still in a crumpled heap on the floor - his thumb still absentmindedly moving in her hair. 

“Killian…” she nudged him - yeah. He’d dozed off too. “Killian,” she repeated a little louder - this time his name causing him to stir. 

“Mmmm” he groaned and scrunched his nose up at being woken up. He was unspeakably adorable like that, something youthful and even juvenile in his unedited expressions.

“You fell asleep,” she added - still jostling him a little to get him to wake up. 

“S’did you,” he murmured, his voice still heavy and low.

“Yeah, but I’m awake now, and hungry.” She laughed as she reached to find her phone to check the time. “Oh shit, it’s 4. We slept for a while - and... ” she frowned at the screen.

He begrudgingly sat up, straightening his back and stretching a little.

“What is it, love?”

He was most definitely going to be sore from that awkward position.

“A text from my mom. My parents invited us to dinner - like… together. Tomorrow night.” 

A chuckle rumbled in his chest at the way she still looked startled about the message. 

“Is that a problem?” 

She shook her head at him while she moved to stand up and straighten herself out, hands moving nervously through her hair. “No, of course not. It’s just… very… formal? Official?” 

“There’s nothing wrong with the formalities, darling - and although I know you’re quite fond of spontaneity - a bit of good form never goes amiss.” There was a sparkle in his eye at both the innuendo and the way he held his shoulders proud and square when he spoke of his beloved good form. 

\---------------------------------------------------

On the bed behind him lay Emma and the remains of what appeared to be most of his wardrobe. He had been trying on different outfits for the past hour and a half - absolutely determined to make a good impression at their first official dinner with her parents. 

Never one to take too terribly long to get ready in the first place, Emma had spent the past hour and 15 minutes just watching him. The way he would flick through the hangers, brow furrowed as he contemplated each piece. Honestly, it was just a fantastic excuse to watch him get undressed over and over again - licking her lips when he tried on a particularly snug pair of jeans that sat dangerously low on his toned hips. 

Of course that was the pair he decided to stick with, and it made her want to peel him out of them before they even left his place. He was singing quietly to himself as he tried on shirt after shirt, and she could see his anxiety in the way he fumbled with his buttons. 

With just 15 minutes left before they needed to leave, she finally moved from the bed to what had become her “side” of the closet. Really, it was just the spot to hang her coat, a couple shirts and a dress. She landed on the dress - a casual grey cotton shift with a pair of black leggings and her black ankle boots.

Turning her head to the side she worked her fingers through her hair to pull out the more egregious knots, but didn’t bother doing anything else to it - the warm blonde locks falling in gentle waves around her shoulders. 

He was quite nervous, actually. It seemed silly, since not only did he and Emma decidedly NOT need David and Mary Margaret’s approval - but it appeared that punching Neal seemed to win it nonetheless. And yet, here he was, in a smart pair of dark-wash jeans (which hugged his ass in a way he knew Emma would appreciate) and a simple navy blue button-up, fidgeting like a teenager on prom night. 

Taking a deep breath he looked himself over one final time, ran his fingers through his hair to mess it up just enough to keep him from looking too put together. 

When she turned back around her breath caught in her throat. He was still standing in front of the mirror, but he seemed to have settled on an outfit. His good hand was shoved deep into his pocket, his shoulders hunched a little as he took stock of himself - and apparently wasn’t terribly happy. Emma, however, felt her heart soar at the look of him. Something about his shy demeanor in that moment reminded her of the buttoned-up Priest she fell in love with. 

He was all good form and social anxiety - clearly unaware of how mind-numbingly attractive he was in this moment. 

“Well don’t you clean up nicely?” She stepped up behind him, moving forward until her frontside was pressed into the firm line of his back, snaking her hands under his arms and around his waist, working them up his chest as he sighed into her touch. 

“Think we’ll pass inspection?” He teased, feeling her nimble fingers turn greedy, toying with the sharp muscular v carved into his hips.

“Well, I don’t have time to be as thorough as I’d like. But it certainly feels like everything is -” he hissed as she dipped her hand down over the growing bulge in his already too-tight jeans - “ship shape, Captain.”

He rocked his hips into her hand - desperate for more contact, but she pulled away. 

“It’s bad form to leave a man all riled up like that love.” He growled after her as she giggled her way over to the bathroom. 

He grumbled under his breath as she called out from behind the closed bathroom door that she’d be ready in 10 minutes. 

It was for the best anyway, he told himself, putting the flowers he’d bought for Mary Margaret into a sturdy enough vase to make the short car ride. He tried to convince himself they didn’t have enough time for what he had in mind anyway as he pulled the bottle of Moscato from the fridge (of course Mary Margaret would love something that sickly sweet.)

He groaned as he settled into the couch, flipping through the mail while she finished up. He couldn’t imagine what else she had to do to great ready - she looked lovely enough as it was - but he knew better than to question her. 

\----------------------------

She grinned to herself at the idea - how much it reminded her of when they first got together. Standing there in front of the mirror, fidgeting like he was heading into a life-changing interview - Killian looked so much like the Father Jones of old, and less like the debauched sex god she’d brought out of him. 

Five. Five photos, all timed to be sent during dinner. She knew he was required by the church to keep a relatively close eye on his phone in case of emergencies, so he’d definitely see them.

The first one was relatively mild. She just applied some fire-engine red lipstick, pulled her neckline down a little and leaned seductively toward the mirror to give an excellent view down her dress. Click. 

One down, four to go.   
\--------------

Standing at the front door, he took another deep breath. 

“Ready love?” 

“I feel like I should be the one asking that,” she retorted, reaching around him to ring the doorbell. 

He winced at the harshness of the sound and the inevitable start to what was bound to be a very anxious evening. 

The door swung open before the second chime, and Mary Margaret was practically radiating heat with the intensity of her smile. 

“Come in! Come in! Oh, are those for me?! They’re lovely, Father - erm… Killian!” He extended the flowers awkwardly, the bottle of wine tucked into the crook of his bad arm. 

Mary Margaret scooped them both up quickly, handing them off to David (who made quick work of getting the flowers in a vase, wine in the fridge, and pulling some whiskey out of the cabinet) as she returned to her post in the kitchen. 

Emma chuckled a little at the way her mother was rambling. She was clearly excited, and the skip in her voice matched the bounce in her step as she worked away. David simply held up the bottle of whiskey and tilted his head to inquire after them, Emma nodding fervently and Killian politely declining. 

After a while they settled into easy conversation. David and Mary Margaret still went to the Catholic church sometimes, and Killian was glad to hear that his replacement seemed to be doing well - though they had noticed a slight dropoff in attendance. 

They talked about Killian’s new position, and how much he liked the new church - though he wasn’t terribly thrilled about the idea of being “on-call” all the time - required to keep his phone handy. David just laughed, saying that it’s part of the marriage contract too, just not in writing.

Dinner was almost ready, they were just about to get the table set, and Killian excused himself to use the restroom and wash up. As he was walking over he felt his phone buzz in his pocket. Cursing the piece of technology he loved so dearly otherwise, he slipped it from his pocket and tapped the screen. A message from Emma? That’s strange. He hadn’t seen her pull her phone out - not to mention she’s been sitting next to him all night…

He closed the door to the restroom and opened the message at the same time - his eyes widening as he took in the sultry image. His breath caught in his chest and he dropped the phone clumsily in surprise accidentally kicking the small chest of drawers as he scrambled to pick up his phone.

The clatter could surely be heard out in the main room, Emma calling out to him teasingly “Alright in there, Jones?”

“Yeah, yeah. Sorry.” He called back, licking his lips as he let his eyes rove over her. She was up on her tiptoes, pushing her chest out toward the mirror - and leaning over in a way that left her perfectly rounded breasts on display, her head turned slightly to show off her elegantly long neck as she smiled coyly for the camera. 

His brain finally clicked the pieces together. That’s what she was doing for 10 minutes in the bathroom. And if their history was any indication, he was in for a long [excruciatingly sexy] night. 

He imagined every unsexy thing he could think of - old ladies in swimsuits, the Titanic - none of it mattered. His erection simply wouldn’t go down, which he would ordinarily love, but at the moment it was kind of a problem. Running his hand through his hair, concerned that they may send a search party soon with how long he’d been in there, he decided to try and take care of it as quickly and quietly as possible. 

There was a small bottle of lotion sitting on the vanity, and he did a quick sign of the cross (old habits) and said a prayer for forgiveness for what he was about to do. 

After putting a quick pump of lotion into the palm of his hand, he shimmied his pants down far enough to pull himself out and work over his straining cock. His head slipped back as he sighed heavily in relief - just the pressure of his hand and the slick lotion on his hardened arousal had him keening. 

He rested his other arm on the vanity as his hand pumped over his sensitive skin. Before long he was rolling his hips into his hand, his breathing shallow, his strokes shortening to focus on the little ridge at the tip that Emma liked to run her tongue over. 

Oh God…

That final thought of Emma sucking him greedily is what did him in. He bit his lip hard enough to bleed as he felt himself tighten up, raising up on his toes and pointing himself toward the sink as his orgasm overcame him - hips jerking and cock pulsing as thick ropes of his release shot into the porcelain bowl. 

Jesus Christ. I’m so in love with this woman, Killian thought to himself - catching his breath as he washed out the sink and cleaned himself up.

When he came out from the bathroom she was grinning like the damn Cheshire cat - and he looked... well, sated. Simultaneously blanched and blushing. 

“Everyone ready?” Mary Margaret smiled brightly. 

He smiled and nodded weakly, walking over to the table - pulling Emma’s chair out for her he leaned in to whisper “Bloody tease” into her ear as he completed his outwardly gentleman-like gesture. 

They settled into sparse, but relatively easy conversation as they ate. It seemed David had been having some trouble with a group of teenagers who thought it was quite funny to go around defacing Mayor Mills’ reelection campaign signs. 

Her tough take-no-prisoners attitude had gained her the nickname “The Evil Queen,” and while many of the townsfolk liked to complain - none did so in her presence, and they certainly didn’t dare run against her. 

It was during a lull in the conversation that Killian’s phone buzzed loudly in his pocket. He immediately looked up at Emma, suspecting it to be another of her inappropriate photos. Best save that for later. 

“You can get that,” Dave said, nodding to Killian’s pocket. “We know it’s a condition of your new employment that you have to pay attention to your phone. It’s not a problem, honestly.” 

Mary Margaret quickly and heartily agreed. “Yes, of course! Please go ahead. We wouldn’t want you to get in trouble.”

Killian lifted his hand in protest, “That’s very kind of you, but I’m sure it can-” his sentence was cut off by yet another vibration in his pocket. He huffed in resignation. “Very well. Please, excuse me.”

He stood up from the table, expertly holding his napkin in front of himself to hide what was soon to be an obvious tent in his already too-tight pants. Emma picked up the conversational void by starting to talk about her recent interest in portrait photography of all things, while Killian made it over to the corner to pull up the messages.

Just as he suspected. Both from Emma. Both picture messages. He held his breath as he clicked the first image. She had her back pressed up against the bathroom wall opposite the mirror, giving a nearly full-view of herself. The leggings were gone, and while one hand held her phone up, the other was dipped into a marvelous pair of black lace panties, her dress bunching up at her forearm where she’d pushed it up to gain access. She was looking directly into the camera, tongue peeking out to lick her lip. 

He felt himself twitch and harden at the thought, suddenly quite upset that she was doing all of this just mere feet from him while he twiddled his damn thumbs in the other room. Clearly his talented fingers could’ve been more… agreeably engaged. 

The second picture was impossibly sexier, the dress had been removed entirely and she was standing boldly in nothing but the lace bra and panty set he caught a glimpse of just moments ago. She’d pulled one of the cups down and pinched a pert rosy nipple between her fingers, her legs crossed as if trying desperately to find some friction for the ache between her thighs. Surely it was torture to tear her hand away from herself long enough to snap the picture.

He swallowed thickly - both hoping for that to be the end, and begging for it not to be. But his phone remained silent for long enough to convince him that he had to head back to the table. He slid the phone back into his pocket, opening his stance at the knees a bit while he adjusted himself in his pants - hoping his raging erection could go unnoticed until they could excuse themselves for the evening. 

“Nothing too serious, I hope!” Mary Margaret chirped as he settled back into his seat. 

“Nothing urgent no, just some office stuff.” He lied through his teeth - add that to the list of transgressions to atone for in his nightly prayers, and Emma smirked playfully from across the table. 

While the dinner itself was quite delicious, he’d never been more uncomfortable in his life. And not because Mary Margaret and David were being tough on him, in fact, nothing could be further from the truth - they were nothing but incredibly gracious and kind to him for the remainder of the meal. But try as he might, he couldn’t get Emma out of his mind, and he’d held this erection for so long it was starting to become physically painful.

It was at the end of the meal - plates cleared away, just the drinks and conversation left - when Mary Margaret had offered coffee and it happened again. Another loud buzz came from Killian’s pocket, but this time the edge of his phone was pressed directly into the hard line of his arousal. The feeling of the vibration against his impossibly sensitive cock almost made him cum right there. In his pants. At the table with her goddamn parents. As it was, he gasped and his eyes rolled back a little before he could clench his jaw to control himself. 

“Actually, Mom, no thank you. Killian’s been keeping something from you guys all night,” Emma started (the warning glare he gave her didn’t go unnoticed, but she continued anyway). “He hasn’t really been feeling well, but since he’s been such a good sport, I think it’s time to get him home.”

They all stood up from their chairs, David grabbing a few stray dishes and ferrying them to the kitchen while his wife fussed about coats. He took the opportunity to stand and adjust himself before Mary Margaret handed him his coat. 

“You should’ve said something! We could have rescheduled!” She patted him on the arm reassuringly before turning her attentions to Emma and giving her a big hug. 

David clapped him on the shoulder with a sincere smile, “Feel better soon,” before giving his daughter a kiss on the cheek. It was clear he was a little worn out, his wife was quite energetic on normal days, and Killian could only imagine the flurry of activity that would have preceded a night like this. 

“Thank you both for being so understanding, and for the delicious meal and delightful company,” Killian said as politely (and quickly) as he could manage. The throb between his legs was stronger than ever, and he was desperate to be somewhere - anywhere - else than standing in front of her parents. 

“See you soon,” Emma added with a wave, before turning toward the door. 

Once the door clicked safely shut behind them, he grabbed her by the wrist possessively, practically dragging her down the stairs. She giggled at his impatience, knowing the final two pictures would really do him in - and to be honest, she was glad they were soon to be in a position to do something about the bulge he’d been expertly hiding all night. 

He was striding down the street, a man determined - before abruptly turning to pull them into a nearby alley and pinning her to the brick wall with his hips, leaving his mouth mere centimeters from her lips as he shoved his hand into his pocket roughly, pulling his phone out. 

“And just what did you leave me this time, darling? Another picture?” His voice was low and gravelly as he swiped at the buttons to pull the images up. 

His mouth went dry as he took them in. She was completely naked, exquisite pale skin reflected to it’s fullest in the mirror. She had climbed up onto the counter (thank god he had a deeply set countertop), legs spread wide, feet planted on the mirror in front of her, giving an impossibly erotic view of herself spread out for him. She’d brought two fingers up to her mouth and was sucking on them lewdly as she snapped the shot, cheeks hollowed around her own digits. 

He grunted in approval as she squirmed at the memory of what came next. 

“Such a dirty, wanton woman,” he growled, flipping to the final image. 

Her skin was no longer pale as porcelain, but rather sporting a delectable blush, particularly in her cheeks and across her chest. She was still sitting on the countertop, legs spread wide, but this time those fingers were buried inside herself, riding her fingers as her hips lifted up from the cool counter, her head thrown back in ecstasy. He’d know that look anywhere, she was mid-orgasm - and it was the most splendidly beautiful and breathtaking thing he’d ever seen. 

How she had the focus to take the picture in that moment was beyond him. He was dizzy on his feet just seeing it. She felt his cock twitching even more between them, and she knew that last picture had the desired effect. 

“Like it?” She teased. 

“No.” He said flatly. Her face only had a split second to fall into confusion before his lips were on hers, devouring her in a passionate and needy kiss. He dropped his phone to the hard concrete below, forgotten in the desperation of the moment. 

Pulling back to kiss and suck at the pulse point hammering away in her neck, he whispered. “No. I don’t like it. Because I’m jealous. You were having all of that fun without me.”

He brought his hand down to grab her hip harshly as he bit at her collarbone. 

“You just wanted to torture me all night, didn’t you? But you had your fun first…” His thoughts and words were punctuated with kisses, nibbles and soft bites, working his way down her body - kissing her through her clothes until he got to the hem of her dress. 

He snaked his hand upward, her body jolting at his touch, until he was cupping her through the thin lace of her bra. 

“Maybe I should torture you, get you all riled up and then just leave you here. Or better yet, take you back to your parents. Say you forgot something,” he pinched her nipple as he spoke, earning a gasp of pleasure from her. 

“You wouldn’t dare,” she responded by dragging her hand down to squeeze his ass and pull his hips tighter into herself, increasing the pressure on his straining cock as she swirled her hips lightly, causing him to curse under his breath, his movements faltering. “You’re too far gone. I know it.”

He sucked in a clearing breath, knowing she was right - of course. He was going mad with his desire for her. So mad, that not long after masterbating in her parents bathroom, here he was - about to fuck her senseless in an alley. Embracing the inevitable, he focused on chasing their pleasure. 

“Did you think of me?” He crooned as he pulled his hand from her chest and dropped it to roughly pull her leggings and panties down, licking his lips at the pooling wetness he found there. “Christ, you’re so wet for me.” 

He was practically panting now, but so was she, and he slipped two fingers inside of her as he continued to growl into her ear. “Did you imagine my cock as you rode your fingers in that bathroom? Play with yourself and imagine it was my tongue sucking on you? Dipping into you?”

She moaned as he spoke - his dirty talking always got to her in a way she never could have imagined. The combination of his sultry voice wrapped around those wicked words, and his fingers pumping into her relentlessly was driving her wild. 

She was bucking against him absentmindedly but in a moment of clarity she realized it wasn’t what she wanted. She whispered to him urgently, “Please, Killian, so close - not like this.”

He understood immediately what she meant, and he couldn’t blame her - it’s what he wanted too.

“Take your shoe off,” his tone was commanding - she didn’t even bother to ask why just the one - simply doing as he asked. She bent down and unzipped her boot, while he fumbled with his pants, popping the button and shoving both them and his boxers down far enough to pull himself out. 

 

She slid her foot out of the show, and with it still raised he pulled her leggings and panties all the way off before grabbing her around the waist and lifting her - coaxing her to catch her heels behind his back, her tights dangling uselessly from her other foot, the boot holding them on. 

With her legs wrapped around him like this they were deliciously close to where they both ached for each other. With her hands thrown around his shoulders, she used that little bit of leverage to push up just enough to catch the tip of his cock, letting her weight fall as he slid into her. 

They both sighed in relief as he finally settled into her warm, tight sheath. 

“Oh, God, you feel so good wrapped around me.” He sounded absolutely wrecked, like a man wandering the desert who’d just found his oasis.

“Mmmm” was all she could manage as he started rutting his hips into her, long languid strokes better suited for a bedroom than an alley, but she could hardly complain as each deep roll of her hips shot white lightning through her veins. 

She was sliding down the wall a little, the harsh brick scraping across her delicate skin, and she flexed her legs against his to steady herself in an attempt to work her way back up - but the movement made her even tighter around him, and Killian’s hips stuttered in surprise, the intensity of the sensation almost sending him over the edge. 

“Fuck, love,” he bit out as he drove into her relentlessly - the pace quickened as he started to lose control, “So close. Are you close?” He half pleaded - hoping to God she was close, because he felt like he was about to burst.

She anchored one arm on his shoulder, gripping the hair at the back of his head, and brought her other hand down between them to her sensitive bundle of nerves. In a few short circles she was right there with him, the tight coil of her impending release settled low in her belly, ready to snap at any moment. 

“Yes, Killian, so close” she sighed as he kept pounding into her, each snap of his hips driving her closer and closer to that glorious peak. He tilted his hips up just a tiny bit - and on the next thrust he hit that spot deep within her that had her seeing stars. 

“Oh, God, that’s it - Don’t stop!” Her fingers were working over herself furiously as she started to fall - every single nerve in her body firing as she snapped and crashed over the edge, her legs shaking as he convulsed around him, still driving into her - his brow furrowed in concentration as he chased his release. 

She was like a vice around him as he continued to rut into her, “Emma, God, Emma, I’m gonna --” his mouth hung open on the final word as his hips stuttered, unable to keep their steady rythm as he tensed and pulsed his release deep inside of her, coating her walls with his thick seed. His orgasm was so forceful she actually felt the pressure of him shooting his cum inside her, which only drew out her own high even further. 

They were both breathless and sated, slumped against the brick wall - vision dark with their recent release. Who knows how long it was before they released he was still inside of her, both of them half naked and connected in the most intimate of ways in public (albeit in the alley). 

Reluctantly he allowed himself to slip out of her and step back, pulling his boxers and jeans back up, and untangling her panties and leggings, helping her work her bare leg back into them before kneeling in front of her to put her shoe back on. He blinked up at her from his kneeled position, impossibly blue eyes shining through the relative darkness - and he couldn’t help but say it. 

“Emma Swan, I am so impossibly in love with you.” He stood up as he said it, bringing her hand to his lips and kissing it sweetly. 

She blushed at his statement, knowing it was true - but still slightly uncomfortable at the gravity of it. She knew this “I love you” wasn’t just meant as a platitude, but rather as a way of saying, “I’m yours if you’ll have me,” and for the first time in her life - it was what she really wanted. 

They come so far together. When they first met she was a rebel with an eye toward havoc for havoc’s sake - and he was… well, a priest, a recovering alcoholic, a one-handed mess. But together they were so much more.

“I love you, too, Killian. Now, let's go home.” She beamed triumphantly at the crumbling of the last of her armor - stepping into his side and allowing him to put his arm around her as they left the alley. 

\----------  
As the months passed, David and Killian became surprisingly fast friends - and (unsurprisingly) enthusiastic sparring partners.

Things at the new church were going fantastically, exactly the kind of place Killian had always wanted to land. It was forgiving enough not to toss out a preacher who punched someone on his first day, and forward-thinking enough to allow him to tackle the difficult issues of the faith with the realistic approaches people actually needed to hear. 

He and Emma had moved into a new place by the water, this one a little bigger. For the moment the extra two rooms were for both of them to have their own home offices, but he hoped that someday they’d need the space for a very different reason.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Picking up right where we left off - post Pastor Jones punching the fuck out of Neal and winning over his mate Dave in the process.


	17. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I know a few of you were wanting an epilogue - and I FINALLY got around to it. It's basically a little snippet into their daily life - and the kinds of shenanigans I imagine them getting into regularly. For those of you who haven't seen it, this little back and forth with Smee is a long-time meme, and apparently actually went down somewhere (though the Catholics were the one's with a sense of humor in that one!)

Emma and Killian had quickly settled into their domestic life. She was working as a probation officer - which seemed like the perfect combination of her past with the criminal justice system (in several ways) and her desire to help kids like her who'd lost their way.

People who didn't know her well would be surprised at her soft spot for children in need, thinking only of her tough exterior and rocky past - but those who knew her best saw the incredible amount of empathy and compassion she had for them. She desperately wanted to be a force for good in their lives - the way she wished someone had been able to be that force for her.

About a year after they "officially" started dating, he proposed during a picnic by the water. While his nerves had his emotions raging like the ocean during a storm, the waves in the nearby marina lapped calmly against the wooden docks as he awaited her answer. Her breath hitched as she saw the gorgeous emerald stone he held out to her, flanked by a couple of smaller diamonds on each side. It was beautiful, simple and just a bit unusual - but she loved that they were so in-tune with each other that he didn't need to ask about her preference, he just knew she wouldn't be happy with the traditional diamond.

When she said yes they fell into an impossible bliss - somehow more and more in love with one another every single day. Even with the added stress of Mary Margaret's constant insistence that they invite more people and scale up the wedding, they seemed to balance each other perfectly - taking turns trying to explain that neither of them wanted a big to-do.

They were married in a quiet ceremony with one of Killian's associate pastors presiding over the affair. Despite his affiliation with the church (and even more of Mary Margaret's protests), they decided an outdoor wedding suited them best - and on that day (5 years ago now), he went weak at the knees at the site of his true love walking toward him in a simple satin gown, arm in arm with her father.

She was perfect - and he thanked God now more than ever, that for some damn reason, she felt the same way about him.

Both of them decided early on that they'd like to have kids - but they put it off for a while, taking some time to just enjoy being married. It wasn't always easy. There were fights over housework, careers and finances - the same stupid things that all couples fight about. But even in their fighting they never once lost sight of the fact that they loved one another unconditionally - even when they disagreed.

Two years later Emma brought their baby boy into the world - William Arthur Jones. Killian thought he would die of happiness when he saw the two of them together for the first time. His brilliant wife, exhausted with her golden hair tied up into a ponytail - beaming down at the perfect little human in her arms, tear tracks running down her cheeks as she was overcome with emotion. She never thought she could have this. Never thought she could be this. And yet, here she was. He was terrified of all that was to come, but he knew they'd find a way to work it out together.

As the years passed it became apparent that Killian was determined to be the absolute best of fathers. There were times when his fervent devotion made her melancholy - recognizing that it's root was in his troubled relationship with his own father, and his disdain for the man who'd destroyed his family. But then she'd see the way Killian smiled at their son while they laid on their stomachs on the living room floor - reading books or playing with blocks, and everything seemed right with the world.

Her boys spent a lot of time together, Killian taking care of William on most days while Emma went to work. His schedule was a lot more flexible than hers - and he worked from his home office often and took William with him to the church when he needed to go in. The fact that he'd made sure to find a way for her to continue working after they had their son only made her fall in love with him more - if that was even possible.

And as much as she appreciated it, they did seem to get into a lot of trouble together. More than once she'd come home to see some half-built project (her favorite being a tree-house for "lost boys only" that took Killian nearly six months to actually finish), or find that they'd destroyed the kitchen with their baking "experiments."

She supposed it should've been no surprise when Killian (with their son's help) got himself into a little bit of trouble by starting an accidental argument with Father Smee that seemed to be playing out agonizingly slowly and very very publicly.

"Just let it be, Killian," Emma tried to sound exasperated while she whisked up some eggs for breakfast, but they both knew she was enjoying it as much as he was.

He came around the corner into their kitchen, black shirt hung open to reveal his toned chest and tight abs. Even though he was capable of buttoning it up himself, he always liked watching her nimble fingers work the buttons through their slots.

Stepping up behind her, taking in the smell of her shampoo as he slipped his arms around her, he sighed in contentment before placing a tender kiss to her jawline and moving back to his coffee to take up his cause.

"You know I can't just let that kind of ignorance slide, love. Something must be done. If not me, then who?" He adopted a falsely gallant tone that made her giggle.

"You don't think you're blowing this out of proportion?" She retorted. "I mean, it all started with one little thing for Will-" he cut her off with a wave of his hand.

"It's not about the lad. You know that, darling. There are greater forces at work here." He stood determined.

"Know what you're going to say this time?" She gave in, stepping away from the stove for a moment to check on their son happily coloring in a picture of a pirate with a parrot on his shoulder.

"Oh yes. I've got it all planned out. Rest assured, love, this is the last one." He took another sip of coffee as she smiled back at him, turning the burner off before coming before him and slipping her hands under his still unbuttoned shirt to run along his chest and around to his waist.

He groaned at the contact, wanting her to do so much more than that - but with their son coloring just a few feet away, he settled for the glint in her eye that shone with the promise that they'd get to that later.

* * *

 

A couple of months ago he'd insisted on showing William what he considered to be a classic film - All Dogs go to Heaven. Little did he know that the viewing would spark something not only for their son - but for the whole town.

As the final credits were rolling he turned back to his father, his face suddenly serious - eyebrows furrowed in deep thought and consternation.

Killian wanted to laugh at how adorable he looked like that, but knew that would only upset him, so he bit his lip to stifle his chuckle.

"Is it true?" His son finally said, climbing up into Killian's lap, staring into his father's eyes as if he could find the answer there if he looked hard enough.

"Is what true, son?" Killian said, brushing back a stray strand of the boy's dark locks. The boy's hair looked exactly like his own, often sticking up at odd angles no matter what they did.

"Do all dogs go to Heaven?" William responded quickly.

Killian just blinked for a few moments - not realizing the theological implications of the animated movie. He tried to sift through a million thoughts, worried about saying something incorrect. After all, how pathetic would it be for a child to be unable to rely on his pastor of a father for theological questions.

"Dad?" The small voice pulled him from his thoughts.

Killian cleared his throat. "Well, son, the Bible tells us that God loves all his creations - and since God created dogs, I'd say that's a yes. And really," he mused thoughtfully - talking more to himself than his son now, "Heaven is meant to be a happy place, and I'm certainly happier when there's a dog around. Not to mention, I don't think there's anything in the bible that would specifically exclude dogs…"

William's eyes lit up. "That's great! We should get a dog! That way he can come to Heaven with us!"

Glancing over the surprising morbidity of that statement, Killian's stomach fell at the realization that both he and Emma would now certainly be faced with an insistent toddler pleading day-in and day-out for a puppy. As if the poor woman didn't have enough on her plate already with work and putting up with the two of them.

"We'll see about that, William. But for now, let's get your shoes and go for a walk."

They'd made it to the churchyard - William's tiny hand clutched in his father's as they walked - when he noticed the marquee and stopped so suddenly that Killian practically dragged him forward before he realized his son had stopped dead in his tracks.

"Do people know?" He looked up at his father as he asked - Killian mentally noting that they'd need to have a conversation about how to ask specific questions.

"Do people know what, lad?"

"That all dogs go to heaven? I didn't know…" He explained, trailing off.

"I doubt it's something people think about often, son. Why?"

"We should put it on the sign. So people know." He pointed at the marquee - which currently displayed the title of his current message series. Not exactly enthralling stuff.

Killian scrubbed a hand through his hair, mentally weighing the possible outrage he'd face for using the sign for something so… silly, and the possibility that it's sillyness would be exactly the thing to draw some attention.

He decided quickly that if the community could get over him punching someone in the church on his first day, they probably wouldn't kick him out for this.

A little over an hour later Killian snapped a selfie with his son in front of the newly changed sign, reading: All Dogs go to Heaven.

About a week later he was driving over for a sparring session with David and he'd nearly run off the road upon seeing what was on the marquee at his former church.

"Only humans go to heaven. Read the bible."

His Adam's apple bobbed as he gulped at the heavy realization that he may have just started something quite a bit bigger than he intended.

David just laughed him off - thinking the whole thing was hilarious. That in a moment of weakness he'd done something to placate his toddler and ended up in what was bound to be a bit of trouble.

Killian took a swing, the desire to punch that smug look off of David's face taking over the pastor's senses. His father in law just kept smirking back at him.

"We've all done it, Killian. You should've seen Mary Margaret's face when I let Emma paint her bedroom herself." David panted between movements.

"Showing your age there, old man," Killian teased as he landed a blow to David's ribs. He straightened up at the small victory, determined to prove it wasn't just a momentary lapse in parental judgment. "It wasn't just to make the lad happy. I've done some research into the matter in the past few days. I think it's true. I mean, God's a good guy, and what kind of an asshole wouldn't allow dogs into heaven?"

David's feet stopped shuffling as he dropped his hands to his side to give Killian a look that just shouted, "Really?" They both devolved into laughter after that - deciding they'd had enough for one day.

* * *

 

The entire incident played out over quite a few weeks. After seeing that response - he knew he only had one option: to fight back.

They'd settled into a kind of rhythm of changing the signs once a week. Father Smee would change his on Tuesday, Killian would change his on Saturday. It had actually become a spectacle of sorts - people gathering at the base of the sign, waiting for Killian to put up his response.

It was quite hilarious, really, having a few churchgoers shouting out their guesses like they were on Wheel of Fortune as he filled in the lines. The members at his church had even started writing in their own suggested responses - placing them in the tithe and offering box at the side of the worship center.

He often stuck with his own responses anyway, not wanting to stir up political trouble within the church by choosing one person's entry over another. But he posted the submissions on the church blog for everyone to enjoy. They seemed to get a real kick out of it.

As he dragged the ladder out to the marquee one final time (he knew this was going to be the end of their little debate), he thought back on their argument via church sign. The whole thing was a bit ridiculous when he laid it out in his head:

**Killian** : "All dogs go to heaven."

**Father** **Smee** : "Only humans go to Heaven. Read the Bible"

**Killian** : "God loves all his creations. Dogs included."

**Father** **Smee** : "Dogs don't have souls. This is not open for debate."

**Killian** : "Evangelical Free dogs go to Heaven. Catholic dogs can talk to their priest."

**Father** **Smee** : "Converting to EV Free does not magically grant your dog a soul."

**Killian** : "Free dog souls with conversion."

**Father Smee** : "Dogs are animals. There aren't any rocks in Heaven either."

He knew his last response would put Father Smee over the edge. But he couldn't help but smile as he looked up at his final comeback.

"All rocks go to heaven."


End file.
